


A Dalton Boy on His Knees

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Hook, Anal Sex, Biting, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Breathplay, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Dalton Academy, Dom Kurt, Dom!Elliott, Dom/sub, Drinking, Flogging, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Kissing, Language, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Not Blaine Friendly, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Skank Kurt Hummel, Slut Shaming, Smoking, Sub Drop, Sub Sebastian, cigarette burns, mention of past Klaine, past Starkurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 123,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a dare, Sebastian goes to a BDSM club, where he meets a young Dom and the club's owner, Kurt, who takes Sebastian on as his pet for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dalton Boy on His Knees

**Author's Note:**

> (Warning for shaming, bondage, flogging, age difference but not underage, smoking, and slightly genderfluid dressing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing cover for this story was done by ForbiddenDusk (freakingpotter).

It starts with a dare among the upper classmen.

Wes found out about the BDSM club, _Pavarotti’s Prison_ , during a weekend trip he took with his parents to Columbus. The night club was situated several blocks down the street from the exclusive restaurant where they had arranged to have dinner. But one look at the purple neon sign flashing the club’s vulgar name; the vividly rendered logo of a canary locked in its cage, bound in chains and with a red rubber ball gag in its mouth; and the line of “deviants” (as Wes’s mom had referred to them) waiting outside to get in had Mr. and Mrs. Leung ditching their reservations and making a beeline for a restaurant across town.

A lot of big talk later and there are plans to go, wagers made, and carpools assigned. But as luck would have it, Sebastian is the only one who follows through. He is intrigued, and more excited than he would outwardly admit. He doesn’t waste time changing out of his Dalton uniform before he leaves so as not to get stuck in commuter traffic. He arrives at the club ten minutes earlier than planned, but over an hour later, he’s still standing outside alone.

“Fucking cowards,” Sebastian mutters beneath his breath, feeling foolish for going along with it, actually entertaining the idea that he might have been the victim of an elaborate practical joke. But joke or not, he’s not going to slink back to Dalton without seeing any action just to bitch about being stood up by his pussy friends.

Sebastian stands in the shadows and watches the customers walk by, getting a feel for the clientele, and waiting for an opening to jump in. He’s normally not so nervous. Even at only eighteen-years-old, well below the legal age for admittance into an alcohol serving establishment in Ohio, Sebastian Smythe isn’t a stranger to night clubs. But he knows this isn’t any regular night club. He’d played out this scenario a dozen times in his head on the drive over, but without a gang of other guys with him, he’s not sure how to approach. He’s not one of these people, and he definitely didn’t dress the part. In his private school uniform, even if he takes off the blazer, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb. There’s no way he’s going to sneak in and blend.

A tall, thin man rushes by and catches Sebastian staring from his hiding place against the wall. The dress code everyone here lives by seems to require tight jeans, some sort of revealing top, leather and spiked accessories, black eye makeup, and an excessive amount of piercings and tattoos. The man speeding by has taken this look to extremes – a ring of liquid liner applied around his eyes with laser precision; multiple rings and tunnels in his ears, piercings in his eyebrow and his nose, and lethal-looking spiked bracers on both arms. Their eyes lock for a second before the man breezes past the line and into the club as if he owns it.

“Live past your stereotype,” Sebastian mumbles with a huff. He waits a few more minutes, checking his cell phone one last time for a text, a missed call, anything, before finally making the decision to wander towards the line. He pushes off the wall, searching his pocket for his wallet and his fake I.D.

“Hey! Preppy!” a distinctly high and authoritative voice calls out, demanding Sebastian’s attention. “Are you lost? Or are you out here looking for trouble?”

The thin man he had seen enter the club earlier bears down on him, having exited the club from a rear door and circled around the building toward the entrance to catch Sebastian off his guard.

“Jeez,” Sebastian says, leaning back against the wall to soak this man in, his uniquely handsome face scowling at Sebastian with an unequaled expression of disgust. “Could you be anymore _cliché_?”

“I could,” the man says, crowding Sebastian in, putting a hand on each side of his head and pinning him with his body, “if I had the time to fuck around. But I’m getting a little sick and tired of you privileged Catholic school boys coming here and harassing my customers. So if that’s what you are, you can either blow away on your own, or I can call my bouncer out here and he can make you take a walk…” The man bounces his head back and forth with a look of mock contemplation on his face “…but probably minus one testicle. It’s your call.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Sebastian takes a defensive step back, but with nowhere to go, he smacks his head on the brick behind him. “I’m definitely _not_ a Catholic school boy.” Sebastian chuckles, not missing the irony. “I’m actually a customer.”

The man steps away from Sebastian and raises a brow, grazing over Sebastian’s uniform with wary eyes. His eyes pause on the red letter _D_ on Sebastian’s left breast pocket, his nose scrunching as if he just smelled dog shit.

“I-I was supposed to meet some friends, but they wimped out on me,” Sebastian explains, feeling the heat from this man’s glare penetrate his blazer and travel straight to his skin, roasting him like a flamethrower.

“I see,” the man says, his voice calmer, not entirely impressed by Sebastian’s story but apparently convinced that parts of it are true. “So, are you afraid to go inside, or do you need some… _guidance_?”

Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, but it inexplicable goes dry. His first instinct would be to buy this man as many drinks as it would take to convince him to follow him into the bathroom for a quickie, but Sebastian can’t quite imagine taking this man on his hands and knees. This man is in his element here, and quite obviously has the upper hand, which puts him in control. Sebastian has never met a man like him before. He’s not necessarily intimidated by him, but he can’t help but be a bit in awe of him – his strut when he walks, his ‘I’m hot as fuck and I know it’ attitude, his shit eating grin, and the subtle simmer in his ever changing blue-green eyes. It brings out something unusual in Sebastian, something he knows he’s never felt before. He wouldn’t mind giving in to this man; wouldn’t mind bending to his whims, especially if it gives him the opportunity to take a peek at what’s hiding beneath his criminally tight jeans.

Suddenly, Sebastian is thankful that no one else showed up.

“A little assistance might be nice.” Sebastian’s normally smooth, cool demeanor falters beneath the man’s disarming grin. “This is my first time at a club like this.”

“If you need some help, what would you say to being mine for the night?” the man offers.

“I don’t know.” Sebastian shrugs, looking the young Dom up and down, from the purple streak in his upswept hair, to the oversized gauge in his left earlobe, the flock of small blackbirds tattooed around his neck, his black net shirt, his leather belt resting askew on his hips, those mouth-watering jeans, and his knee-high stiletto boots, shiny patent leather gleaming like an oil-slick beneath the arc-sodium street lights. “I guess I’m up for anything.”

“I’m Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

“Sebastian Smythe.” His name catches in his throat when Kurt’s eyes travel down his body, sizing him up, lingering somewhere around his waist, then returning back up to his eyes.

“Do you have some I.D., Sebastian Smythe?” Kurt asks, raising a hand and making a _give me_ motion with his fingers. Sebastian reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out and hands over the driver’s license he paid way too much money to have made, but he considers it money well spent when Kurt hands it back with a pacified nod.

“Well then…” Kurt tilts his head, his eyes shimmering blue in the shifting light, “we’ll start you off as a puppy, which means you’ll spend the night on your hands and knees. Do you think you can handle that?”

“I think so, Kurt,” Sebastian responds nonchalantly.

Kurt’s eyes instantaneously go dark.

“No, no, no,” Kurt tuts. “You refer to me, when I allow you to speak, as  _Master._  Understand?”

“Absolutely.” Sebastian nods, biting back the urge to roll his eyes.

Kurt crowds against him again. The confidence that radiates from his eyes, the no-nonsense self-control, kills any urge Sebastian has to sass him back.

“I am your  _Master,”_  Kurt repeats in a low, commanding tone, “and you are my  _pet._  You will do only what I say, sit where I tell you to sit, stand when I tell you to stand. You will not speak unless spoken to…” Then Kurt backs off, and his eyes become softer. “But if there’s anything I do that makes you uncomfortable, your safeword is ‘butterfly’. Say it whenever you want something to stop. Understand?”

Sebastian swallows his ego. “I understand,” he says in a more respectful voice.

Kurt curls his fingers into the Windsor knot of Sebastian’s tie and tugs sharply down, bringing Sebastian to his knees. He works the tail of the tie around to the nape of Sebastian’s neck and uses it as a leash.

“Then come along, puppy,” Kurt says in a sing-song voice, pulling Sebastian along with him through the double doors of the club. “It’s time to join the fun.”

The first thing Sebastian notices about Kurt’s club (it’s the easiest thing for him to notice while he’s crawling on the floor) is the music. It’s old school, heavy metal rock ‘n roll, and it’s loud. It vibrates through the floor and makes his palms buzz. The room they enter is dimly lit with multiple strobe lights throwing colors on the floor, but from what Sebastian can see when he tilts his head up, it looks like any ordinary club. Sebastian scuttles along after Kurt, doing his best to keep up, never realizing how difficult it would be to crawl on the floor before he agreed to it.

They enter the main room. Sebastian can see the legs of tables and chairs, and a faux wood dance floor. Other Dominants wander around, parading their human pets, some wearing actual collars and leashes, in all manner of dress and undress. Sebastian sweeps his eyes over the groups gathered around the room. He thought there would be more spanking and fucking going on, but in reality, there’s just a whole lot of sitting, drinking, and talking. It’s easy to identify the Doms and the subs. It doesn’t seem as though any of the submissives are allowed to sit on chairs. They’re either at their Masters’ feet, or in their Masters’ laps. He only finds one group out of seven where a Dominant has a submissive strapped to a table while he reams her from behind with some kind of shiny metal object that could be a vibrator if vibrators were the size of Sebastian’s forearm and terrifying. But aside from that, which is kind of hot, he finds it unreal how much pleasure these pet subs seem to get from being made to heel. Some of them lie at their Master’s feet, some curl around their Master’s legs, some sit up straight at attention, waiting on commands. Some of them even go so far as to pant like dogs and yip.

 _Yeah_ , Sebastian thinks. _Right. Not happening._

Kurt stops every so often to talk to people they pass, but eventually they sit at one of the occupied tables. Kurt taps a spot on the floor with his foot so that Sebastian will know where to sit, then pushes his shoulder so he’ll lie down. At first, Sebastian finds this behavior dehumanizing, but sitting at Kurt’s feet while Kurt bends over and runs massaging fingers through his hair gives Sebastian a tremendous sense of peace, of safety, and with that, an urge to please.

An hour later, however, Sebastian is bored out of his mind. Kurt and his friends jabber away about New York Fashion Week, Alexander McQueen’s new line, and some school called NYADA, but mostly about musical theater of all things. Sebastian rolls his eyes more than once, much to the dismay of another Dom’s pet sitting across from him, who tries to signal Sebastian with wide, pleading eyes to stop.

“Whatever,” Sebastian mutters.

That single word, spoken without permission, immediately catches Kurt’s attention. The conversation at the table stops dead. The Dominants sitting with Kurt look playfully affronted, wicked grins on their faces, while the other sub simply gives up on his wayward compatriot and lies contentedly at his Master’s feet.

“Oh, preppy,” Kurt coos condescendingly, sandwiching Sebastian’s head in his hands and talking to him nose-to-nose the way he would address a disobedient dog. “You broke the rules, pretty boy.”

“What are you going to do with him, Kurt?” a bubbly African-American woman seated at the table asks. “I mean, he’s only a new widdle puppy after all.”

The baby talk gets on Sebastian’s last nerve, but he focuses on staring straight ahead and waits for Kurt’s decided punishment.

“Well, it’s his first infraction…” Kurt screws up his face and looks at the ceiling, giving the matter some not-so-serious thought. “Maybe I’ll go easy on him.” Kurt looks at Sebastian and smiles. He runs a fingernail over Sebastian’s lips, making them tingle. “I think that pretty mouth of his can lick my boot.”

Sebastian hears Kurt, but he doesn’t move. He can’t have heard what he thought he heard. Lick his boot? Who in the 21st fucking century orders another person to lick their boot?

Kurt fixes Sebastian with a determined stare. “Lick my boot,” he commands firmly.

Sebastian locks eyes with Kurt, his defiant green gaze challenging a more amused blue.

“No?” Kurt asks when Sebastian stays put. “Well, then that makes two strikes for you, puppy.”

“Uh-oh…” another Dom at the table, an older blond with a distinctly British accent, says.

Kurt slips from his chair and kneels on the ground beside Sebastian, pushing with a hand between his shoulder blades until he’s lying with his cheek pressed flat against the ground.

“You know, Sebastian, you look like the kind of boy who gets by on his charm, and wraps people around your finger,” Kurt whispers. “You probably have a whole harem of little boy toys at that expensive school of yours jizzing all over themselves to do whatever you tell them to.” Kurt’s smile grows devilish as he speaks. “I think I know exactly what you deserve.”

Kurt sits in his chair and beams. “Two strikes!” Kurt announces to the table. “You all know what that means!”

A roar rises up. The blond man smacks the table with the flat of his hand as if sharing the hidden punch line of a joke.

Kurt turns his attention back to Sebastian with laughing eyes.

“Puppy needs to be punished,” Kurt says, overemphasizing his words to be sure they’re understood, “so puppy is going to get flogged.”

Kurt bends down and grabs hold of Sebastian’s tie, dragging him up till Sebastian is kneeling close to Kurt’s mouth.

“Please tell me you’re at least 18.”

Sebastian scoffs, then bites his tongue hard to keep from doing anything else stupid, but Kurt seems to let it slide.

“You saw my I.D. I’m 21,” Sebastian insists.

Kurt shakes his head. “Yeah, and I’ve seen enough fake I.D.’s in my time working here to spot one from 50 miles away,” he hisses. “Yours is good, I’ll give you that, but it’s not real.”

Sebastian prepares a rebuttal, but surrenders instead. Kurt’s got him there. Probably best not to insult the intelligence of the man who’s basically holding him up by his neck.

“Yeah,” Sebastian sighs. “I’m 18.”

“Excellent,” Kurt says brightly, standing and speed walking away. He practically drags Sebastian across the floor when Sebastian stumbles to keep up, falling forward and knocking his right elbow into a chair leg.

“We’re headed to the paddle room,” Kurt calls to onlookers as they pass by, “if anyone wants to come.”

The hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck prickle, springing up on end at the thought of a crowd of people watching him get spanked. He thinks about what Kurt said before they came in, how he can make it all stop by saying the word ‘butterfly’. Sebastian holds on to that for reassurance, but he keeps his mouth shut.

The paddle room is about the size of an average classroom. Long, wooden benches line the walls around the perimeter. There are strange pieces of furniture and various odd implements scattered around that Sebastian doesn’t get the time to examine since he’s being led to a pair of wood blocks in the center of the room.

“This is my favorite piece of equipment,” Kurt says. “We call it the pew. A lot of praying happens here.”

The pew is basically two pieces of polished wood set a few feet apart, with shackles and cuffs chained at each end. Kurt stops Sebastian in front of it. He lets go of Sebastian’s necktie and circles him lazily. Sebastian hears Kurt’s heels click against the smooth floor and then stop somewhere behind him. Kurt pulls Sebastian’s pants and boxers down to his knees, and then rolls his shirt and blazer up his back, exposing him to all eyes in the room. Sebastian shivers, blushing red hot over every inch of skin, which is definitely a feat since not much makes Sebastian blush.

Sebastian isn’t ashamed of his body, but being laid bare in public, made vulnerable for other people’s amusement, is not something he’s used to. It’s uncomfortable and demeaning. Still, being flogged by Kurt sounds super-hot, and Sebastian isn’t about to back down. He’s in this for the long haul.

Kurt settles Sebastian over the wooden blocks. He starts by spreading his legs wide to secure him at the knees to the ends of the first one, and then pulling his body forward to cuff his wrists to the second. It’s awkward, but not too uncomfortable…until Kurt pulls the wooden blocks apart, stretching Sebastian out across a farther distance in an extended plank position. Sebastian’s stomach muscles strain to keep his body upright. He clenches his teeth to suppress a groan.

“Nice abs, preppy,” Kurt says, patting Sebastian’s stomach and humming appreciatively. “You must have some incredible stamina.” Kurt crouches down and whispers so only Sebastian can hear. “Could you imagine me fucking you on this thing?”

Sebastian closes his eyes, a sudden waterfall rush forcing the blood in his brain south as he envisions this pierced and tattooed man pounding him from behind, completely naked, manicured nails burrowing into Sebastian’s hips, that sing-song voice chanting Sebastian’s name over and over and over…breathy…broken…

"Open your eyes, preppy,” Kurt purrs. “There’s something I want you to see.”

Sebastian’s eyelids open slowly, and then blow wide at the sight of the flogger in Kurt’s hand, its stunted handle wrapped in red leather with twenty black leather plaits spilling from the end. At the tip of about a dozen or so of those dangles a perfect red leather rose. The leather plaits without roses end in Monkey’s fist knots. Sebastian’s hands flex in the cuffs, his palms sweating profusely. His whole body shudders, and he starts breathing too quickly.

Sebastian isn’t afraid of too many things, but he’s not an idiot. He doesn’t like pain.

“Calm down, preppy,” Kurt says soothingly. “You know the safeword. Say it once, and this all ends…but I promise you, you’re going to enjoy it.” Kurt runs the flogger up and down the length of Sebastian’s back, the leather roses stroking his skin like fingertips; gentle, light touches that raise gooseflesh all over, and Sebastian starts to relax. He breathes in deep and melts against the wood. Kurt watches and waits for the right moment. He doesn’t give Sebastian any warning when he decides to begin, so when he pulls back and lets the flogger fly, the strike startles Sebastian more than it hurts. The roses land in a spray over his body, some hitting his spine, most hitting his ass, a stray one or two brushing his balls. He yelps, a sound that’s a confused mixture of mild pain and surprise. The roses thud heavily against his skin, the effect like an intense massage. It’s the knotted ends that sting, but only a few of those seem to make contact. Around him, voices whisper. He hears muffled laughter and the shushing of Dominants to one or two less disciplined submissives.

Kurt gives Sebastian a moment to register the strike, then hits him again in roughly the same spot. Sebastian jerks, but doesn’t yelp quite as loudly this time.

“So how was that, puppy?” Kurt asks. Sebastian hears the smirk in his voice, the subtle tease, embedded layers of control. “Give me an answer so I know how you’re doing.”

“Oh my God,” is all Sebastian can manage through quivering lips. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s never been spanked by anyone in his life. Once the sting from the knots dies down, their bites ebb away, every inch of his body sparks with arousal.

“Shall I do it again?” Kurt asks, standing smugly beside Sebastian with the flogger at the ready.

Sebastian considers the question. Does he want to be spanked again? It sounds insane, but: “Yes,” Sebastian rushes in a desperate breath.

“Yes _what_?” Kurt asks tightly.

“Yes…please?” Even as the words leave his mouth, Sebastian knows he’s forgetting something. He wracks his brain for the right answer, his head muddied by the welts rising on his cheeks and the need to feel that flogger against his skin.

“Yes…please… _what_?” Kurt leads him along, fanning the tails of the flogger over Sebastian’s ass. Sebastian feels a breeze from them swaying back and forth, but they don’t touch him, and _God_! does he want them to touch him.

“Yes… _Master_. Master!” He comes to it with a triumphant chirp that makes Kurt laugh.

Kurt strikes Sebastian again, three times in succession, and Sebastian’s body trembles, his wrists straining in the cuffs. Kurt takes a moment to circle Sebastian’s prone, bound body, and admire the view – the bruises forming on his skin, his muscles fighting to keep him suspended, and his asshole clenching with every hit. Kurt swings and slaps Sebastian again, a little harder to see that hole tighten around thin air. Kurt’s cock responds to the thought of those muscles closing around him, fitting over him like a sleeve, absorbing him into their heat.

“Are you going to fuck your puppy?” a faceless voice calls from somewhere in the room.

“I might,” Kurt teases, “if he was being a good puppy.” Kurt hovers by Sebastian’s ear, talking softly from behind. “And if he was old enough to legally be here.”

Kurt straightens up and swings again, and this time a fatigued Sebastian grunts out loud. His reaction to being flogged is glorious – sweat beading along his back, his legs quivering with exertion, his cock flushed, curved up against his taut stomach. Kurt strikes him to see if Sebastian’s cock bounces in response.

It does.

“Mmm, I don’t think I’ll have to fuck him to make him cum,” Kurt comments aloud with a satisfied chuckle and another hit.

Kurt’s erection becomes painful in his jeans, and he begins to question who’s really the one being punished here. The thought of how long it’s been since he’s fucked an eighteen-year-old makes Kurt want to weep. He doesn’t do the math. He doesn’t want to depress himself any more than he is.

“Have you ever had an orgasm off the end of a flogger?” Kurt taunts, the answer unmistakable. He lets the rose tipped tails trail in the crack of Sebastian’s ass, the soft leather playing over his balls. Sebastian squirms, trying to follow the plaits as they leave his skin.

“No, Master,” Sebastian grumbles in frustration, close to cumming, close to collapsing. Kurt knows that all it would take is his hand clamping around this boy’s balls to ruin this orgasm for him, but he needs to see this boy cum.

Kurt hits him again and again, giving him no time to rest, edging him closer, and when Sebastian’s arms and legs are about to give out, Kurt stops and steps away from the pew, taking a long, deep breath to steady himself.

“God, you do want it, don’t you?” Kurt pants, as ready to explode as Sebastian looks. “You’re so hot and ready for it, aren’t you?”

Sebastian’s not entirely sure this isn’t a rhetorical question, but he can’t help answering it anyway.

“Yes, Master,” he says, the words barely audible.

“Come on, puppy” - Kurt crouches down and threads his fingers through Sebastian’s sweaty hair – “tell me you want it.”

“I w-want it, Master,” Sebastian stammers, shifting in his shackles to re-position himself for another hit, pleading with his body, his ass in the air.

“Beg for it.” Kurt yanks hard on a fistful of Sebastian’s hair, his lips so close to Sebastian’s mouth that Sebastian can taste Kurt’s breath – hot and sweet, intoxicating with a smidge of alcohol and a hint of spice.

“P-please…M-master...”

“I’ll give you what you want…” Kurt releases Sebastian’s hair, and his head drops on his tired neck “…if you lick my boot.”

Kurt stands and raises a knee, resting his stiletto heel on the wood block in front of Sebastian’s face, inches from his mouth. Sebastian pants, watching his breath condense on the slick surface. He sees his distorted reflection, the want in his eyes, the string of drool hanging from his lower lip, his hair a wreck despite the half-a-bottle of product that he put in it hours ago. This reflection of himself that he barely recognizes suddenly seems more on the nose than it ever has. This time, Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. He attacks Kurt’s boot as if it was the man’s mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss to his ankle, licking over the joint, and polishing the patent leather with his tongue.

“That’s it, puppy,” Kurt murmurs, lashing Sebastian again. “That’s what I wanted. See? That’s all you had to do. Was that so difficult?”

Sebastian moans into the leather of Kurt’s boot, sending fuzzy vibrations tickling up Kurt’s body. They gather in his groin and shuttle along his spine. Sebastian hears quiet muttering and whining in the dark outskirts of the room, the sounds of cuffs and shackles being locked as other inspired Dominants start sessions of their own around them.

“I’m going to make you cum just like this,” Kurt promises, lash after lash snapping against Sebastian’s skin. Sebastian wonders, during a brief moment of clarity amidst the haze of his mounting orgasm, how close Kurt might be to cumming. Would Sebastian know if he does? Kurt seems so in control. Could Sebastian affect him like this? By submitting to him?

Those questions suddenly don’t matter when Kurt’s strikes get harder, coming faster, splintering along Sebastian’s ass and slipping into his crack, grazing his balls, a few managing to propel the plaits around his hips to skim the roses along his shaft. Sebastian sweats across his forehead and into his eyes. He starts finding it harder and harder to focus on remaining stretched, especially since his mind has begun to drift. He imagines licking Kurt’s pale skin, tracing his tattoos, chasing that flavor of sweet and hot in his mouth, exploring his body to see if he can find it anywhere else.

What would it take to make Kurt squirm, to make him cry out in ecstasy?

What would Sebastian have to do to find out?

Sebastian’s orgasm rumbles through him with every hit until his muscles give and he can barely move, every nerve overwhelmed by the mixed sensations of pleasure and pain. If Kurt came as well, Sebastian doesn’t know, though when Kurt undoes Sebastian’s cuffs and pulls him into his arms, cradling Sebastian’s spent and half-dressed body to his chest, there’s no mistaking the wild thrumming of Kurt’s heart.

Kurt holds Sebastian against him, making obscure hand gestures to someone in the room, and the next thing Sebastian is aware of is a warm, wet cloth cleaning him, hands pulling up his pants and fastening his fly.

Sated and utterly at peace, Sebastian can feel himself fall away in Kurt’s arms. He must have started to doze off and snore because he hears Kurt laugh where his ear rests against Kurt’s chest. A hand shakes him gently. Sebastian rolls his head on his shoulders to look up into the Dom’s eyes.

“You smoke cloves?” Kurt asks, pulling a pack from his pocket and giving it a wiggle.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says unconvincingly. “Yeah, sure.”

“Of course you do,” Kurt smirks. “Why don’t we go outside and talk.”

Kurt stands, but Sebastian gets on his hands and knees to crawl.

“No, no,” Kurt chuckles, grabbing Sebastian’s arm and pulling him to his feet, “I think you’ve earned the right to stand.”

Kurt holds Sebastian’s elbow and leads him to a fire exit door in the paddle room. He opens it and they walk outside, letting the door swing shut behind them. Sebastian watches Kurt hit the pack of cigarettes against the palm of his hand. An awkward silence threatens to surround them, so Sebastian says the first lame thing that pops into his mind.

“So…is this really your club?”

“Yup,” Kurt says, taking a cigarette out of the pack and offering one to Sebastian. He grins when Sebastian takes it and holds it ungainly between his fingers. “It’s a partnership between me and an old friend from college.”

“How old are you?” Sebastian asks, watching with dread as Kurt lights his cigarette knowing that his is next. Sebastian has never smoked a cigarette in his life.

This makes him a lot more anxious than the thought of getting flogged did.

“What do you mean _how old are you_?” Kurt takes a drag off his cigarette and blows the smoke out quickly from the corner of his mouth. “Fuck you, that’s how old I am.”

Sebastian smiles, more bashful schoolboy than the overly confident smirk he’s used to wearing.

“It’s just that you look awfully young to be the owner of a club like this.”

Kurt flicks his lighter in front of Sebastian’s face. Sebastian puts the cigarette between his lips, inhaling when Kurt lights the end. The sweet smelling smoke burns his lungs, and he coughs violently. He stands up straight and takes a deep breath of cool air. He attempts several times to look cool and save face, but doubles over again in a fit of unattractive gagging.

“Those things will kill you anyway,” Kurt laughs, clapping Sebastian hard on the back. Sebastian nods in agreement, but holds tight to his cigarette, backing out of Kurt’s reach when he tries to grab it away.

“How do you like my club?” Kurt leans against the wall and takes another drag, deciding to let Sebastian fumble with the cigarette by himself.

“It’s not really my scene,” Sebastian admits, joining Kurt at his spot on the wall, “but it could be.”

Kurt blows out a mouthful of smoke into the night air, then turns to look at Sebastian.

“You like being a dog?” Kurt asks.

Sebastian inhales, managing to take a drag and exhale without his body revolting. “I like being _your_ dog.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Don’t get attached to me,” he advises sternly, but with a flattered half-smile on his lips. “I’m not always so nice.”

“That’s perfect,” Sebastian says, feeling his cocky self returning, “because I don’t do nice.”

Kurt stares at Sebastian with narrow eyelids, quietly smoking his cigarette, lost in his thoughts.

“Look, what I do here, we have strict rules,” Kurt explains. “That’s why I don’t fuck with under age 21 subs here. I have to keep my liquor license.”

Sebastian nods in agreement, as if what Kurt said made any sense.

“But in my private life, I’m a bit more lenient. Legal age for most everything but drinking is 18, right? You’re old enough to vote, old enough to go to war, you’re old enough to fuck.” Kurt reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card holder - gold metal inlaid with mother of pearl. He flips it open and pulls out a violet-colored business card with black embossed lettering. “Why don’t you give me a call?” Kurt hands the card over. “Maybe we can work something out.”

Sebastian takes the card and looks it over, memorizing the phone number quickly in case anything happens to it.

“Too bad I won’t get the chance to have you fuck me on that pew,” Sebastian chuckles nervously.

Kurt drops his cigarette and grinds it out on the cement with the toe of his boot. “No worries, preppy. I have a set of those at home.” Kurt winks and heads back toward the club. Sebastian doesn’t want to see him go. He needs to have those eyes on him a while longer, hear his voice call him _preppy_ one last time before he leaves.

“I’ll give you a call,” Sebastian says, hoping to prolong the conversation. “I promise.”

Kurt stops mid-step, his stiletto heel clicking loudly on the cement, and turns back around.

“Now, that’s something entirely different.” Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and stares significantly at Sebastian.

“Wh-wha…what do you mean?” Sebastian asks, slightly confused.

“Promises,” Kurt replies. “Promises must be kept, so they must be sealed.”

“H-how do you seal a promise?” Sebastian stutters, captivated by the serious yet playful glimmer in Kurt’s eyes; eyes as complicated as the man himself. Kurt pushes Sebastian up against the wall with his body, fitting himself to him. Kurt molding against his body makes Sebastian eager to go back to the paddle room again. Sebastian is a star athlete at Dalton. His abs can take it.

Lord knows his ass can…he hopes.

“You seal a promise with a kiss,” Kurt whispers.

Kurt winds Sebastian’s tie around his finger and tugs, bringing Sebastian’s mouth down to meet his, no invitation offered or needed. He presses his mouth against Sebastian’s, slotting them together, delicate brushes of his tongue coaxing the seam of Sebastian’s lips open.

“Oh…” Sebastian gasps when Kurt’s tongue slips through and caresses Sebastian’s tenderly. Sebastian succumbs to the first sweep of Kurt’s piercing against the roof of his mouth, moaning as the smooth barbell strokes back and forth.

Kurt pins Sebastian to the cement by his shoulders and pulls away from the kiss, a sly grin for the destroyed look on Sebastian’s face. Sebastian tries to hold Kurt with hands cradling his hips, but Kurt effortlessly breaks free.

“There. That promise is good and sealed. Now you  _have_  to call me. Buh-bye, preppy.” Kurt walks backward toward the fire exit and knocks on the metal door behind him. It opens a crack, and Kurt slips through into the darkness, his smile the last thing Sebastian sees before the door shuts and he’s left outside alone once more.

The drive back to Westerville is torture, not because of his sore ass that stings with every bump in the road his car hits, but because every sting reminds him of _Kurt_. It’s after four in the morning when he gets back to Dalton. The campus is dark except for the senior dorm, where the top floor lights are burning bright. Sebastian walks dreamily to his room, replaying the entire night over and over and over, every brush of Kurt’s fingers in his hair, every snap of leather on his ass, and that kiss – Sebastian can live on that kiss for the rest of his life if he has to.

He might not ever have to touch another man’s dick after that kiss. Consider him _done_.

A line of his traitorous “friends” peek their heads out from behind their doors as he passes, but no one talks to him until a guilty-looking Trent emerges from his room. Dawdling in the hall, he watches Sebastian approach.

“So, Seb,” Trent says casually, as if he’s about to ask him about dinner with his folks, or how his last dental check-up went. “How did it go?”

A few more Warblers venture out of their rooms to listen in on the conversation. Sebastian eyes the group, glaring at each boy one by one, but even as annoyed as he was at the beginning of the night over his supposed best friends ditching him, he can’t hide the grin on his face.

“Fuck you bitches,” Sebastian says, heading off to his room with the shadow of a limp that makes Jeff snicker into his boyfriend’s neck. “My lips are sealed.”

 


	2. A Dalton Boy Looking for Trouble - Part 1

**A/N:** _The follow-up to 'A Dalton Boy on His Knees'. Rated M. Warning for minor heat play and minor breath play._

Sebastian doesn’t call Kurt right away. He waits for days, playing it cool. He doesn’t want to seem overeager even though every day that passes burns him up inside. He keeps the violet business card tucked into the corner of his desk blotter where he can look at it when he sits down to do his homework, which usually turns into him gazing out his dorm room window to daydream and recall every blissful moment of being spanked by Kurt. Several times he’ll pick up his phone and contemplate - how long is long enough so that he doesn’t seem like a desperate schoolboy?

The welts on his ass have faded, but the memory, still crystal clear, colors everything he does day after day until he nearly can’t stand being away from Kurt any longer.

It’s late Thursday afternoon, after killing it on the lacrosse field, when he decides to make the call, because after practice, sweaty from running, his muscles aching, is when he feels the most confident, the strongest, the most like himself. He sees the time on his cell phone screen and curses. It’s later than he realized. The sun has already started to set and he has no idea when Kurt usually leaves to get to the club. He’d rather not have to leave a message.

He has waited so long to talk to the man himself.

Sebastian dials the number, his hands shaking, but he writes it off as over-exertion on the lacrosse field and not the excitement of talking to Kurt again.

Sebastian smiles at Kurt’s ring-back song – Marilyn Manson’s cover of _I Put a Spell on You_.

He doesn’t get too far into the song before a familiar high-pitched voice mutters through the line, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Sebastian says too brightly and he immediately wants to bite his own tongue out. “Uh…I don’t know if you’ll remember me…”

“Sebastian?” Kurt asks.

Sebastian blushes a furious shade of red at the thought that this man would remember him, remember the sound of his voice. Maybe he has been waiting for Sebastian to call.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, dropping his head to his desk. Could he be any more lame than the lame he is acting right now?

"It’s about time, preppy," Kurt mumbles. Sebastian imagines Kurt’s lips locked around a clove cigarette while he lies down in bed; naked, tattooed and pierced body on display. "I’m not a man who’s used to being kept waiting."

"Sorry about that, _Master_ ," Sebastian teases.

The line goes quiet and Sebastian holds his breath, not sure whether or not he just committed some huge sub faux pas.

"It seems like a spanking did nothing to cure you of your little attitude problem," Kurt says, flat and stern but with the subtlest hint of a smile that Sebastian can feel resonating through his voice. "You know, you have quite a smart mouth on you, preppy,"

"I’ve been told that before," Sebastian continues, eager to see how far Kurt will let this banter go.

"You’re just looking for trouble," Kurt says, and this time he chuckles. "We’re going to have to fix that."

"How exactly do we _fix_ it?" Sebastian asks without considering the consequences.

"Well, you’re going to meet me at the club Friday night at eight o’clock sharp, and you’re going to bring a change of clothes."

Sebastian’s eyes go wide.

"Why bring a change of clothes?" Sebastian asks, trying to picture what Kurt might do to him that would ruin his clothing.

"Because, preppy, your next lesson in discipline is going to take place at my house…" Sebastian hears Kurt take a deep drag of his cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly before returning to the line, "and you’re staying the night."

* * *

 

Kurt said eight o’clock sharp and Sebastian isn’t taking any chances. After the final bell on Friday, he rushes to his room without a word to anyone about his plans and packs his overnight bag. He decides to not change out of his school clothes. He has a feeling that Kurt likes his Dalton uniform. He hits a road block when he can’t decide which outfit to bring, so he ends up stuffing three outfits in his bag, rolling his eyes at his own behavior. He catches his reflection in the mirror – his tousled hair, his flushed cheeks, his creased brow - and scoffs. He barely recognizes himself. What is he doing? This is not the way Sebastian Smythe acts. He doesn’t drop everything and run when another man snaps his fingers. _Sebastian_ sets the rules. _Sebastian_ calls the shots.

He hears the timer that he set on his phone go off and realizes that if he doesn’t leave soon, he might hit traffic. Hitting traffic means being late…and missing his chance with Kurt.

The image his mind conjures of Kurt from when they met – the black stiletto boots (Sebastian swallows, recalling the sensation of the smooth patent leather beneath his tongue), his mesmerizing blue-green eyes, glimpses of pale skin peeking out from beneath his black net shirt – is enough to silence the voice in his head and get him back to packing.

Sebastian doesn’t care what he looks like now. He mentally tells himself to shut the fuck up and zippers up his bag.

He leaves Dalton on time and gets to the club half an hour early. He sits in his car and waits, fidgeting in his seat as he watches Kurt from a distance. Kurt is smoking a cigarette and talking to a man that Sebastian can only assume is another Dom by the way he’s dressed and how casually he acts around Kurt - putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder as they laugh at some shared joke.

Sebastian chews his bottom lip raw as he watches this man - this other Dom - whisper in Kurt’s ear, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him close. At one point, he takes the cigarette from between Kurt’s lips to smoke it, leaving a chaste kiss behind on Kurt’s cheek. Sebastian stews in his car seat, gripping the steering wheel in his hands and twisting it as if he’s preparing to rip it off its pillar.

Sebastian tells himself that he should be disgusted with himself for acting like such a jealous little bitch. He’s never had much respect for the overly possessive type, but then again, he’s never been jealous of anyone before. So, for now, if the dog collar fits, he might as well wear it. Sebastian decides to get this show going before he does something embarrassing and disgusts himself even more.

Sebastian walks up to the pair quietly, trying to tone down his usual swagger, knowing that his cockiness won’t get him as far here as it might in other bars or with other men. He tries to coax out that new side to his personality that revealed itself for the first time when he spoke to Kurt – the part that would do anything that Kurt told him to, the part that wanted to bend to Kurt’s will. He is still struggling to find it when Kurt turns his way and sees him coming.

“There’s my beautiful pet,” Kurt coos, letting go of his Dom friend and putting an arm around Sebastian’s waist, “and in his sexy schoolboy uniform, no less.” Kurt reaches up and wraps Sebastian’s tie around his fingers, letting it slip through the spaces between. “Present, pretty and punctual - exactly the way I like my subs.”

Sebastian and the other man stare at each other with the same vulgar interest. The Dom standing before Sebastian and Kurt is all sorts of glam fabulous - dressed in tight leather pants and wearing a sheer, barely there black shirt, with a dangerously spiked collar secured around his neck. He has a massive hole in each earlobe, filled with a black wooden plug decorated with a fine-lined lotus flower. His eyes are blue; so blue they’re almost white beneath the glowing street lights – not quite as captivating as Kurt’s blue-green eyes, but disarming nonetheless, if not all together unnerving. If Sebastian actually believed in monsters and demons, he could probably convince himself that this man is a vampire.

“Preppy, this is Elliott,” Kurt says, either unaware of the tension in the air or purposefully ignoring it. “He’s my partner in this freaky paradise.”

Sebastian offers the man his hand and the man shakes it, squeezing a little tighter than Sebastian thinks necessary, but Sebastian – having participated in one or two pissing contests before in his life – doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t squeeze back, either. The last thing he needs is for Kurt to find out that he disrespected another Dom – not _just_ another Dom, but his business partner. That sounds like the sort of infraction that could make Kurt dump him as a sub for good.

Elliott drops Sebastian’s hand with the glimmer of a secret smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Sebastian suspects that he may have been subjected to some sort of test.

He wonders if he passed.

Kurt looks at Sebastian and frowns with disappointment.

“So, where’s your bag?” Kurt asks, searching Sebastian over front to back, needing no excuse to ogle Sebastian’s body but taking one anyway. “I don’t lend out clothes, preppy.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Sebastian says, this time with his head bowed and without a hint of condescension. “I didn’t know if you wanted to leave right away. I left my bag in my car.”

Kurt turns to Elliott, his eyebrows raised as if Sebastian’s behavior proved some previously debated point. Elliott rolls his eyes, appearing not to concede. Kurt shrugs and turns back to Sebastian.

“No b.d.,” Kurt says, taking a final drag of his cigarette and surrendering what is left of the butt to Elliott. “Where are you parked?”

Sebastian turns and points down the street. Kurt lets go of Sebastian’s waist and takes a step forward, squinting against the street lights to peer into the dark.

“You’re going to have to help me out here,” Kurt says. “I see a Fusion, a Charger, and a Porsche, and I know you’re not rolling in a Porsche.”

When Kurt turns back to Sebastian, Sebastian’s hands are shoved in his pockets, his eyes downcast as he smiles sheepishly at his feet.

Kurt chokes out a laugh.

“The Porsche?” Kurt asks, his voice joking and incredulous all at once. “You’re eighteen and you’re driving a Porsche?”

“Yup,” Sebastian says, his cheeks hotter than he would like. He doesn’t care how red he gets as long as Kurt keeps smiling at him with that look of awe on his face.

“Change of plans,” Kurt says, taking Sebastian’s arm and dragging him away, “we’re taking your car.”

Kurt turns back to say good-bye to Elliott and stops at his friend’s disapproving frown.

“Aw, don’t be upset, Ells,” Kurt coos over his shoulder. “You’re still my number one.”

Sebastian glances over his shoulder and watches a small smile lift the frown on Elliott’s face, but when his eyes shift to look at Sebastian, they are hard and entirely unamused.

Kurt blows Elliott a kiss and tugs Sebastian closer, moving faster toward his car.

“What do you mean by ‘number one’?” Sebastian asks, daring to slip a hand over Kurt’s where it’s curled around his bicep.

Kurt casually rests his head against Sebastian’s shoulder, and Sebastian catches his breath.

“Elliott and I have known each other forever,” Kurt explains, “and we have this deal that if we get middle-aged and fat with no prospects of love that the two of us are going to get a house together and become crazy old cat men.”

Sebastian chuckles lightly. Kurt looks up from under his eyelashes when he feels Sebastian’s shoulder shake.

“What?” Kurt draws out the word. “You don’t like cats?”

“Uh…no,” Sebastian says, caught off-guard. “I like cats just fine.”

Sebastian pulls his key fob from his pocket and unlocks the car doors.

“So…what’s so funny?” Kurt’s tone is light but more demanding now. He leans his back against the car and yanks Sebastian’s tie, pulling Sebastian’s body against his.

“I…” Sebastian doesn’t want to say the thought that crossed his mind, but he doesn’t want to lie. It’s strange that not lying is his first compulsion. He has no problem lying to anyone else, even his parents when the situation requires it.

“Tell me, preppy,” Kurt whispers, pulling the tie tighter, twisting it at the Windsor knot, choking Sebastian just enough to make him dizzy.

It doesn’t frighten Sebastian at all. He finds it mildly intoxicating. Sebastian’s eyelids flutter shut as the knot tightens again.

“I…find it hard to believe that you’ll ever have trouble finding love,” Sebastian confesses.

Kurt lets the knot go quickly, and the rush of air to Sebastian’s lungs makes him weak at the knees. He falls forward, bracing himself with his hands on the roof of his car, one on either side of Kurt’s body, caging him in.

“See?” Kurt asks. “Now, was that so difficult?”

Kurt’s voice is just as enticing, just as teasing as it always is, but there’s a break to it, as if Sebastian’s comment struck a nerve. Sebastian doesn’t want to pry. Kurt doesn’t seem like the kind of man who parts with his secrets too easily, but Sebastian wants to hear them.

He wants to earn Kurt’s trust.

“Don’t get mushy on me, preppy,” Kurt says, tutting his tongue. He puts his hands on Sebastian’s chest and pushes firmly, helping him stand. “We should get going while the night is young. Do you need me to drive?”

That snaps Sebastian from his stupor, and that snarky part of him that he hid away slips back. He sees Kurt’s eyes shining up at him, challenging him, his lips hovering so close he can taste the cloves on Kurt’s breath.

“You can flog me within an inch of my life, Master,” Sebastian says, respectfully but with a sly smile, “but no one drives my baby except me.”

Kurt’s smile takes up most of his face. He reaches up and bites Sebastian’s lip sharply, hard enough that it almost bleeds, a small punishment for speaking out of turn. Sebastian swallows the pain…along with a moan.

“I like that, preppy,” Kurt whispers, running his tongue across Sebastian’s bitten lip. “I like your fiery attitude.”

“Do you?” Sebastian asks, taking his chances while he still has Kurt pressed up against his Porsche.

“I do,” Kurt admits. “It’s going to make it so much more fun dominating you.”

Kurt comes closer, so close to kissing Sebastian that Sebastian’s whole mouth waters, waiting for that sinful tongue to slip past his lips, craving its metal ornament stroking the roof of his mouth, but Kurt pulls away again, devilish grin disappearing into Sebastian’s car. Kurt had taken a step forward to open the car door, and now he is shutting it behind him.

Sebastian takes a moment to mourn the kiss he wanted so badly until he realizes – Kurt is in his car. Kurt is sitting in his car. Kurt is waiting in his car, waiting for Sebastian to drive him to his house and then…

Sebastian can’t even imagine, but he doesn’t want to wait and daydream any longer.

He scurries indignantly to the driver’s side of the car, slowing down as he approaches his door when he sees Kurt through the tinted windows throw his head back and laugh. Sebastian takes one last look at the club, the clusters of Doms and subs gathered by the entrance to get in, and that unnerving pair of cold, pale eyes watching him. Sebastian nods solemnly, but Elliott rolls his head on his neck, sticking Kurt’s cigarette between his lips. He turns on his heel and makes his way back to the club.

Sebastian opens his door and slips into his seat beside Kurt, who looks blissful reclining in the leather passenger seat and breathing in deep.

“You know,” Sebastian says, putting his key in the ignition and firing the engine, “I’m not sure your friend Elliott likes me.”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Kurt says, running his hands over the leather door panels, letting his fingers drag across the dash, “but don’t worry about him. I won’t let him hurt you.” Kurt flashes a grin Sebastian’s way. “Unless you want him to, of course.”

“Uh…no.” Sebastian puts the car into gear and pulls onto the main road. “I’m all yours.”

Somewhere between second gear and third gear, as Sebastian merges onto the highway, he swears he hears Kurt say, “Good.”

* * *

 

Kurt’s directions take Sebastian to a quiet, suburban neighborhood only a few miles away from his club. Sebastian turns down a swirling labyrinth of streets, each one identical, lined with cookie cutter houses and perfectly trimmed, green lawns – reminiscent of 1960s era Americana. Kurt points to one of the cookie cutter houses at the end of a cul de sac and Sebastian obediently pulls up front. He isn’t sure what exactly he expected when he pictured Kurt’s home, but for sure it wasn’t this.

“God almighty, I love this car,” Kurt murmurs, reaching for the door handle with a sad whimper. Sebastian puts a hand on Kurt’s arm to stop him, putting up a finger to indicate ‘one minute’. Sebastian leaps out of his side of the car, hurries over to Kurt’s, and opens the door for him.

“My, my,” Kurt says, affecting a Southern belle accent, putting a hand to his chest and fanning himself with his other, “what a gentleman.” Sebastian retreats to the trunk to retrieve his bag and the car cover, with Kurt’s laugh following him the whole way.

Kurt watches Sebastian cover the Porsche, pouting when the last inch of shiny black car is concealed completely.

“Pity,” Kurt sighs, gesturing toward the walkway with an incline of his head, “if I had a car like that, I think I’d live in it, sleep in it, fuck in it…”

Sebastian nearly misses a step at the thought of Kurt in his lap, naked, writhing, bouncing on his cock in the passenger seat of his Porsche.

He swore when he got the car that he’d never sully it by fucking anyone in it.

Now he can’t wait to get the chance.

Kurt stops at the door, key poised at the lock. He turns completely around to face Sebastian.

“When you pass through this door, preppy, you agree to my rules. You submit completely to me. Once our session starts, you don’t speak unless you’re told.”

Sebastian’s mouth goes dry – his tongue suddenly too big to make words. He nods after a pause and Kurt continues.

“I won’t ask for permission to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you, and I’ll assume everything is green unless you say the safe word. Do you understand?”

Another nod.

Kurt looks at Sebastian carefully, examining his face – specifically his eyes – closely.

“Good,” Kurt says, happy with Sebastian’s non-answer. Apparently his eyes gave Kurt the answer he was looking for.

Kurt unlocks the door and pushes it open leading the way inside.

Sebastian has a last minute vision of what he’ll see inside - walls painted black and covered in chains, leather shackles and whips scattered everywhere, maybe even a rack of some sort, Medieval-looking and festooned with spikes. There’ll be no real furniture, maybe a few industrial pieces of art, edgy and gritty.

Again, the reality that smacks him in the face is far more devastating than anything he could possibly imagine.

Normal. Everything is normal – almost painfully so, such a contradiction when compared to the exquisite eccentricity that is Kurt. Sebastian stops and stares, spinning in a circle and taking it all in - a plain brown velour-upholstered sofa, a matching La Z Boy recliner beside it, a bland wood coffee table with a glass top, a cream colored carpet to match cream colored walls covered with framed family photos, each one painting a much different image of the man covered in tats and piercings watching Sebastian with particular interest as he quietly evaluates Kurt’s life.

“So…” Kurt says, keeping the sentence open-ended and waiting for Sebastian to fill in the blanks.

Sebastian’s expression is hysterically shocked. He raises his eyebrow in silent question.

“We haven’t started yet. Feel free to talk,” Kurt says, leaning over to unzip his boots, “but take off your shoes while you do it. I just had this carpet cleaned.”

“It’s…uh…” Sebastian drops his bag and takes a last look around, “not what I expected…exactly…”

“Even us sexual deviants have to live in houses, too, you know,” Kurt says.

“It’s not that.” Sebastian uses untying his laces as an excuse to think up a better response than ‘it’s not what I expected’. He picks up his Oxfords and places them beside Kurt’s boots by the front door, aware of Kurt’s blue eyes on him. “What I meant was…”

“Do you have a dad, preppy?” Kurt asks, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cloves from his back pocket. He opens the pack and picks a cigarette out. He puts it between his lips and lights it.

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies.

“Well, so do I.” Kurt takes a long drag from his clove and sighs as he exhales the smoke from between his lips. “He lives in Lima, not too far from here. He likes to come visit, and I like to make him comfortable, you dig? So I keep my shit in my room or in the dungeon downstairs, and I cover the kitchen table.”

Sebastian nods, but then he scrunches his nose, confused.

“Kitchen table? Why cover the kitchen table?”

Kurt smiles, beckoning for Sebastian to follow with a curled finger as he walks further into the house.

“You’ll see why.”

Kurt leads him through a pair of French double-doors into the dining room, and then through another doorway to the kitchen.

The kitchen is rustically decorated, Sebastian notices, like one might find in a cottage in the French countryside, even down to the little rooster touches on the wallpaper and the dish towels. A rooster-shaped decorative cake pan hangs on the wall over the stove, and copper pots and pans dangle from a runner on the ceiling. It reminds Sebastian of all those summers he spent at his grandmother’s estate in France.

Kurt walks up to a honey-colored, knotted wood table and smacks his hand down on the hard surface.

“This,” he says, bending over to pick up a thick rope already tied to the legs, threading it suggestively between his fingers and tugging on it to test its strength, “is where we will start our first session.”

Sebastian looks over the table and the ropes, and gulps so loudly that Kurt’s smile goes from a suggestion to a fully realized wolfish grin.

“While you’re in my house, you will be naked at all times unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

Sebastian nods, but he can’t take his eyes off the table. For a plain wood table it’s strangely imposing.

Kurt takes another inhale off his clove and rounds the table, leaning his hip on the edge and quietly calling Sebastian’s focus. It’s not too difficult. Even without speaking a word, Kurt is not a man that can easily be ignored.

“Do you like heat, preppy?” Kurt asks.

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“Put out your hand.”

Sebastian puts out his hand, not knowing what to expect, and Kurt quickly crushes out his cigarette in it. Sebastian takes a sharp breath, his eyes wide. His first instinct is to jump or swat it away, but he trusts Kurt, and bizarrely if that means letting him burn him with his cigarette than he will. To his surprise it’s not all that hot. Kurt presses it into an area of skin that’s heavily calloused from holding his lacrosse stick, so there’s no real burn. There’s a sudden flare of intense heat on his skin, but it tingles as it fades, the resulting shimmer over his skin intensely erotic.

Kurt flicks the butt into the trash. He puts his lips up to Sebastian’s cupped hand and gently blows the ash away. Then he places a small kiss to the burn and wraps Sebastian’s fingers around it.

“Yes,” Kurt purrs, “you’re a good boy.”

From that single press of Kurt’s lips to Sebastian’s hand, his entire body thirsts to have him – not that he wasn’t on the edge of needing to be inside this man’s body for the last few days, but this is that new feeling – that feeling of wanting to obey Kurt’s every command.

A feeling that only seems to surface at the sound of Kurt’s voice and the touch of his lips on Sebastian’s skin.

“Now, why don’t you be a good pet and go take a shower?” Kurt suggests, but it’s not a suggestion. It’s an undeniable command. “I want you to clean everywhere…and I _mean_ everywhere.”

Kurt takes Sebastian’s arm and steers him towards the first door down the hall.

“Everything you need is inside.” Kurt shuts the door slowly, eyes locked to Sebastian’s as he closes the gap. “And remember to leave your clothes on the hamper. You won’t be needing them tonight.”

The door clicks shut and Sebastian is alone.

 

 


	3. A Dalton Boy Looking for Trouble - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second half of Kurt dominating Sebastian at his house. (Just an FYI - in the installment after this one, Kurt will be telling Sebastian what he expects from him as a sub, so all of Sebastian's concerns in this chapter will be addressed in the nest chapter.) Warning for anal sex, bondage, rope bondage, fingering.

Sebastian stares at the wooden door closed shut in front of him.

Kurt wants him to shower. He ordered him to clean everywhere.

He even emphasized _everywhere_.

Still, Sebastian kind of wishes that Kurt had been more specific with his instructions. He turns around slowly in this pale gold bathroom – so simple and uncluttered, so plain, like the living room – but this room has a soothing effect unlike the others. It is more _Kurt_ than any other room he’s seen so far. The walls are sponge-painted, giving the effect of gold clouds instead of flat, boring paint. Scented candles line a wooden shelf on the wall - their charred, black wicks standing higher than the wax, melted almost completely away, each emitting the scent of jasmine. The air is thick with the sweet floral scent. Small mirrors are situated behind them to bounce the light around the room. Beneath the shelf of candles stands a covered bamboo hamper, which is where he is supposed to put his clothes. Sebastian stops at the sink, eying a line-up of products waiting for him – a brand new toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and a box with a suspicious looking red bulb pictured on the front.

Sebastian starts there.

He picks up the box and turns it over in his hands, reading the words printed on the side. The instructions make him do a double-take, and when he reads them over again he finally realizes what Kurt meant about cleaning _everywhere_.

Sebastian has never used an anal douche before. It’s hard to maneuver, twice he almost fumbles the red bulb into the toilet, and he gets embarrassed even though he’s in the room alone (thank God he doesn’t get so flummoxed that he has to ask for help). As long as he remains Kurt’s sub, he’s sure he’ll have to do it again…but it’s not an experience he looks forward to repeating.

Sebastian showers thoroughly, but he also tries to be quick about it. He doesn’t want to keep Kurt waiting and he’s too eager to get back to whatever he has planned. Once or twice Sebastian entertains the thought that if he’s in here scrubbing from head to toe, inside and out, what is Kurt doing? There has to be another bathroom – maybe a master bathroom. Is Kurt showering like he is? Covered in soap, sliding his hands over his wet skin, thinking of all the things he’s going to do to Sebastian?

Is he…

Sebastian stops there.

Better not to think about that, Sebastian decides.

He uses every product that Kurt left for him. He brushes his teeth, shampoos and conditions his hair, he scrubs every inch of his skin that he can reach. Even though he is meticulous with his hygiene normally, Sebastian thinks that he has probably never been so clean in his entire life.

It feels weird to shower this rigorously. It’s not the _being clean_ that feels strange exactly, but the _expectation_ of being this _level_ of clean. There’s only one reason why he would need to be _this_ clean…and he can’t wait to get to it.

He turns off the water and steps out of the shower into a room that is suspiciously absent of steam considering how hot he cranked up the water temperature. He finds a towel hanging on the back of the door, waiting for him – a towel he doesn’t remember seeing when Kurt shut him in there, which means his Dom (which is how Sebastian has decided to think of Kurt, kind of as a way to put him in the mood) snuck it in there while he showered. Sebastian picks it up off the hook. It’s thick and plush, something Sebastian would probably not pick out for himself but he can appreciate it. It’s nothing like Sebastian’s taste, because Kurt is nothing like Sebastian.

All those boys at Dalton whose pants he’s gotten into, all those boys from that private school in France his parents sent him to, are very much like Sebastian – spoiled, privileged, trust fund babies, with no real responsibilities other than to act superior and mildly rebellious while knowing everyday of their lives that they would eventually go into the family business. They talk the same, live the same, smell the same, fuck the same…

Not Kurt. Kurt is nothing like those boys, and that’s why Sebastian wants him so badly.

Sebastian brings the towel to his nose and breathes in deep. It smells like Kurt and not some generic store-bought laundry detergent. It’s cloves and jasmine and vanilla and leather. It’s striking and unique, like a signature. It’s a mark, and it’s on him now. Sebastian raises an arm to his nose and takes a sniff. That smell on the towel, that smell of Kurt’s skin, that smell in the air, it’s on Sebastian, and this is another step in Sebastian’s burgeoning understanding of what it means to be a sub.

Kurt isn’t treating Sebastian like one of those lemmings that go to his club.

Sebastian belongs to Kurt.

Sebastian is Kurt’s alone.

The air dries Sebastian’s skin while he stands in the bathroom with the towel pressed to his nose.

From out in the kitchen, Sebastian hears the dull thump, thump, thump of someone hitting wood.

He smiles.

That’s his cue.

Sebastian hangs the unused towel back on its hook and rakes his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so that it’s neat since there is no comb or any other styling product available for him to use.

And no clothes.

He’s not to wear any clothes the entire time he’s there.

He looks down the length of his naked, excessively clean body and smiles.

Let the fun begin.

Sebastian opens the bathroom door and peeks down the hall into the kitchen. He’s greeted to the sight of Kurt sitting at the wood table, his bare feet propped up on the surface as he leans back in his chair, a new lit cigarette pinched between his lips, his left fist resting on the table. His hair is wet so Sebastian was right, and he swallows, imaging how thoroughly Kurt might have cleaned. He’s wearing a tight pair of dark wash denim jeans and a tight black tank top that rises up a bit at his waist, revealing a path of pale, creamy skin.

If Sebastian had his way, he would devour this man, and take his time doing it.

“Finally,” Kurt says, pulling on his cigarette and letting the smoke escape his lips while he speaks, “I was afraid you might have drowned.”

Sebastian opens his mouth for a comeback, but he remembers Kurt’s rules. He doesn’t know if this officially counts as the start of a session, but best not to take any chances.

Though the punishment might be fun.

Sebastian walks toward the kitchen, but Kurt doesn’t get up. Sebastian stops behind Kurt’s chair, waiting to be told what to do. His hands twitch as they hang at his sides, itching to rest on Kurt’s shoulders, to massage his neck, to run his fingers through wet, purple-tinted chestnut hair.

“No, no, preppy,” Kurt says, taking another drag and blowing the smoke through pursed lips, “I need you in front of me so I can get a good look at you.”

Sebastian swallows involuntarily, but if Kurt wants to look, Sebastian will let him look. He has nothing to be ashamed of.

He should tell that to the butterflies duking it out in his stomach because they don’t seem to have gotten the memo.

 Sebastian steps in front of Kurt, preparing for an inspection, but Kurt doesn’t look at him right away. He sucks on what’s left of his clove, then leans his head back with his eyes closed and blows a breath of smoke into the air. Sebastian can see his face, his neck, and his shoulders better at this angle. Kurt’s face is clean of all his makeup except for a thin line of black beneath his eyes. It’s not over the top the way he usually wears it. In fact, it’s sensual and appealing, a simple decoration to emphasize a masterpiece. Sebastian has never really liked the new trend of ‘guy-liner’ but Kurt wears it well, especially in small amounts like this.

Freckles sprinkle across the bridge of his nose and onto his cheeks, a detail usually hidden by the foundation he wears. All his piercings are still in place, though with smaller, more subtle rings filling in the holes. The flock of blackbirds tattooed on his neck, disappearing down into his shirt, are more vibrant against his skin in this light. Correction – the flock of birds fly up onto his neck from somewhere beneath his shirt, their origin a secret…for now. But Sebastian can see new tattoos he hadn’t noticed before – a treble clef and a bass clef intertwined on his neck below his right ear, a star on his left exposed shoulder, a pair of intricately designed Victorian-style sewing shears on his right forearm that had been covered by his bracer before.

Kurt crushes out the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. When Sebastian’s eyes travel back to meet Kurt’s, he looks casually amused.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks.

Sebastian takes a step back and averts his eyes, biting his lips together to keep his mouth shut.

“Awww,” Kurt coos, sitting up in his seat, “look how hard preppy is trying to be obedient. Such a good boy.”

Sebastian wants to preen beneath Kurt’s praise, but now Kurt’s eyes are examining him, so close to his abs and his half-hard cock that Sebastian has to clamp his teeth down on his tongue so as not to become fully aroused. He remembers some of the talk he heard around the club when he sat at Kurt’s feet, how subs were scolded for becoming aroused without permission. He still doesn’t know a lot of what’s expected of him. He remembers Kurt’s rules so far, but are there more? Is there something he should inherently know? Was there a guidebook he should have read or something? It hadn’t even dawned on him to Google anything about the BDSM lifestyle while he was playing Mr. Big Shot by biding his time and acting aloof. But one thing he remembers from his time at the club (time that wasn’t spent at the receiving end of Kurt’s rose flogger) was another conversation a new sub was having with her Dom.

It was a conversation about trust, about the sub trusting her Dom, and their need for communication.

Sebastian knows that he trusts Kurt. Maybe it’s bred from fascination and a little from obsession, but he trusts him.

Sebastian hears the chair Kurt sits in creak as he leans over, and then he feels hands start to feel him up, starting at his ankles. Long fingers walk their way up his calves, and he feels his body shudder.

“Since you’ve agreed to submit to me, that makes your body mine,” Kurt says, speaking inches from Sebastian’s skin, “which means I get to do what I want to do…within limits.” Kurt’s hands wedge between Sebastian’s thighs and part his legs wider, traveling up in between. Sebastian looks up to the ceiling, counting the pots and pans while Kurt continues his examination, moving aside his balls and looking for…what? Sebastian hasn’t the foggiest idea, and he’s not about to ask. The prospects are humiliating to consider. Is Kurt making sure that he’s clean? What else could he be doing?

“You have limits and I have limits,” Kurt explains, “and I’ll discuss those limits with you, but for now, let’s work on getting you used to me touching you.”

Kurt stands from his chair and his touches become less clinical, though there is still the occasional pinch or pull – a tweak of Sebastian’s nipple here, a tug of his hair there. Sebastian stands still with his eyes trained to the floor and yields to it all. Fingertips glide along his muscles, smooth over his skin, weave up and through the damp strands of his hair, brushing and combing it aside and out of Sebastian’s face.

“There,” Kurt hums appreciatively, “it looks so much better without all that shit you put in it to make it stand up straight.”

Sebastian nearly balks – a cry of, “What about you?” ready to pass his lips, but he holds his tongue, even though it’s becoming more painful than ever to do so. Sebastian doesn’t realize he’s shaking with his need to speak until Kurt laughs.

“Good boy,” he mutters again, and Sebastian knows he was being baited.

Kurt walks around him. He runs a hand back up into his hair, grabs a fistful, and yanks his head back, with Sebastian fighting the urge to hiss at the sting. Kurt rakes his nails down Sebastian’s back until he reaches his hips. Here he pauses. He puts one hand on each hip and squeezes hard.

“I need to have you bent over,” Kurt says, putting his hands to Sebastian’s shoulders and pushing him forward. Sebastian puts his arms out and braces himself against the wood table, bending over at the waist.

“Nope.” Kurt takes a moment to move his ashtray to the kitchen counter, then returns to his sub. “I mean all the way, preppy.” He puts a hand between Sebastian’s shoulder blades and pushes down, Sebastian leaning forward until his top half lies on the surface, his head resting cheek down on the wood.

“Now, here comes the tricky part,” Kurt says, rounding to the leg closest to Sebastian’s right arm. “I’m going to tie you up. I’m going to tie your hands behind your back, and your legs to my chairs. Is there anything you need to tell me before we begin?”

Sebastian takes a deep breath, thinking about objecting, but then he shakes his head.

This is what he wants. This is why he’s here. This is how he gets to have Kurt.

This is what he’s willing to do.

Kurt works quickly, wrapping the rope on the right side of the table to Sebastian’s left wrist behind his back, and then moving to the rope on the left side and tying it around his right wrist. Then he ties the ends together. He tugs on the ropes sharply, tightening them around Sebastian’s wrists. This time Sebastian does hiss, but Kurt lets it slide.

Kurt circles back around the table to Sebastian’s legs, out of Sebastian’s line of sight. Sebastian hears the chairs scrape across the floor, feels hands lift his legs one at a time, tying him down from ankle to knee to the back of the chair with his foot flat on the seat. In this way his legs are spread wide with his cock dangling over the edge.

There are no reflective surfaces nearby. He can’t see a single piece of himself without craning his head backward like a corkscrew. It’s not uncomfortable so much as it’s…awkward, and just like that night at the club, he feels exposed, vulnerable. It’s not something he’s used to.

Kurt runs a hand down Sebastian’s back, fingers tracing along the path of his spine, running through the crack of his ass, and back up to his neck. “You remember the safe word right? Nod if you do.”

Sebastian nods as best he can, trying to get a glimpse of Kurt, needing to see the expression on his Dom’s face. Sebastian imagines that he looks pretty ridiculous spread open and tied down. Is this a joke? Is Kurt standing behind him, laughing at him? His fingers fidget uneasily and he tries to readjust his legs.

“You’re uncomfortable like this, aren’t you?” Kurt says, his voice calm without a hint of teasing. Kurt continues to touch him, massaging his thighs, his hips, his ass, making his whole body ache with need despite his self-consciousness. Sebastian doesn’t know if Kurt’s question is direct or rhetorical, so he nods again.

“You probably won’t believe me when I tell you this, but you look exquisite like this, preppy.”

Sebastian doesn’t know how to read the tone in Kurt’s voice but that doesn’t stop him from blushing. He turns his head and rests his forehead on the wood, staring down into the knots and the grains, following the random pattern that dips and spirals in front of his eyes, needing to distract himself to keep the blush from spreading.

“Let me ask you this,” Kurt says, stepping up between Sebastian’s legs, continuing to touch, to feel, to massage, “You probably do something hoity-toity at that fancy school of yours like play polo, or croquet?”

Sebastian nods, his entire body quivering when Kurt’s fingers touch his skin again, this time focusing on his ass, tracing patterns over his sensitive inner thighs, rubbing firmly on the skin beneath his balls. Sebastian shuts his eyes tight, struggling with his body’s natural response to writhe with the pleasure of Kurt’s touch.

“What do you do, preppy?” Kurt asks in a commanding voice. “Tell me.”

“I…mmm…I play lacrosse…M-master,” Sebastian manages without tripping up too badly.

“Lacrosse,” Kurt repeats, sounding genuinely impressed. “Lacrosse is a difficult game. Lots of running. Lots of…endurance.”

Kurt brings a hand down hard on Sebastian’s ass, sending ripples over his skin, and every muscle in his body quakes.

Kurt’s hands disappear and Sebastian desperately wants to know what he’s doing. It’s almost torture not to be able to see, but he doesn’t try to look back over his shoulder again. _Trust_. He has to remember trust. He trusts Kurt.

But God is he curious as hell.

He hears Kurt move, rustling with something that sounds like fabric, and then a triumphant, “Aha!”

The snap of a flip-top bottle makes Sebastian’s fidgeting stop. Sebastian would bet anything the bottle in Kurt’s hands is lube. When Kurt’s hands return to his body, slick and smooth from the lube, it’s not where he expects.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you like this?” Kurt asks, using both hands to massage Sebastian’s shoulders, kneading the tension from his muscles, helping him relax piece by piece as he works his way down Sebastian’s back. “I see your strong muscles, all the hard work you put into your body, and it’s such a tremendous turn on.”

Kurt rounds the table so that he can face Sebastian, so that Sebastian can catch a glimpse of the bulge growing in Kurt’s skin-tight jeans.

“Do you see that, preppy?” Kurt asks, his voice a delicious whisper in Sebastian’s ears. Sebastian would nod in response, but he’s too stunned by the beauty that is Kurt’s growing erection inches from his face. Kurt grabs a fistful of Sebastian’s hair and steps closer, grinding his cock against Sebastian’s cheek. “Do you feel that?” Kurt’s voice cracks a little, just enough to send sparks surging all throughout Sebastian’s body. “That’s you, preppy. You and your gorgeous body tied to my table do that to me.”

Sebastian takes a deep breath, seeking out the scent of this body crushed so close to his skin, discovering hints of cloves and denim and sweet vanilla. Kurt ruts against Sebastian’s face, so close to his mouth that Sebastian places open-mouth kisses to his hip in an effort to seek out that elusive prize beckoning him to put his mouth around it.

“Do you want that?” Kurt teases, bringing his cock closer, watching Sebastian strain to reach it, whimpering when his teeth barely scrape Kurt’s jeans. “I want you to have it, preppy. I do, but not like this…not yet.”

Kurt releases his grip on Sebastian’s hair and walks away. Sebastian cools his temper, but knowing that Kurt is hard because of him is maddening. He tugs at the ropes around his wrist one last time, but it’s a fruitless effort. The more he wrestles with the ropes, the tighter they become until he can feel them cut into his skin, but the pain is no longer a deterrent. He wants to get closer to his goal.

He hears Kurt’s muffled footsteps stop behind him once again, and Kurt chuckles, dark and thick, low in his throat, a rumble of his own need and carefully caged lust – better caged than Sebastian, who is riled up and ready to rip the wood table in two.

“I think that my little boy is ready to be milked,” Kurt says, “but I can’t get started until he’s very, very quiet and very, very still.”

It takes a moment for Sebastian to register that Kurt is talking about him, but once he does, he lies still and holds his breath to keep from making a sound.

But, milking?

“That’s a good boy…”

Sebastian hears another flick of the unseen bottle, hears a squish as Kurt squeezes the thin liquid into his hands. Sebastian’s body tenses, waiting for whatever is going to happen to happen already.

Kurt wraps his long, strong fingers around Sebastian’s hard cock and starts to move his hand slowly. With his other hand, he fondles his balls, twisting gently.

Sebastian’s whole body is at war. It wants to move, to squirm, to arch with pleasure, but he can’t. He’s forbidden. He lets that command ground him and tries not to move while inside he’s screaming to explode.

His cock twitches in Kurt’s hand and Kurt tuts.

“Nope,” Kurt says, moving his slick hand slower, “no cumming till I say so, preppy. I need you to focus on staying quiet and keeping still.”

Kurt should have asked him to stop breathing and blinking – it would have been a less impossible task to accomplish.

When Kurt first mentioned milking Sebastian, Sebastian had absolutely no idea what Kurt could have meant, and the pictures it evoked were both ridiculous and anatomically impossible. Had Sebastian only known about this, he would have been begging for it from the first moment he ever let another boy lay a hand on him.

Kurt knows just how to touch him, how much pressure, just where to twist. Unable to move, Sebastian feels himself dissolve into the tabletop. Kurt edges him closer and closer until, without meaning to, he moans.

“Oh, God…”

The second the words slip past Sebastian’s lips, he freezes. Kurt stops what he’s doing and pulls away from the table

“I feel like ice-cream, preppy. Would you like some?”

Sebastian leans his forehead onto the tabletop, hiding his face and panting against the wood. He’s so close, so close to cumming, so close that anything will push him to the brink.

Kurt comes back with a pint of ice-cream and a spoon.

“You don’t have any nut allergies, do you?” Kurt asks, casually pulling up a chair and taking the top off the ice-cream. “Because Pecan Praline Salted Caramel is my fave, so it’s the only flavor I have in the house.”

Kurt looks at Sebastian and waits patiently for his sub to turn his head and look at him, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from being bitten.

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“Nuts?” he says. “You allergic?”

Sebastian looks aghast by the question, but he shakes his head.

“Perfect!” Kurt rakes his spoon across the top of the ice-cream, “because this stuff is way too good not to share.”

Sebastian watches Kurt take the first spoonful for himself, slipping it past his lips and sucking it off the spoon.

“Mmm,” he hums, closing his eyes as he pulls the spoon out, licked completely clean. “That’s sooo good.”

Kurt spoons up some more, but this time he offers it to Sebastian. Sebastian parts his lips slowly, brow furrowed, puzzled by Kurt’s complete change in demeanor. Kurt feeds him the ice-cream, waiting with the spoon in Sebastian’s mouth until he’s satisfied that Sebastian must have eaten it all, and then pulls the spoon away.

The flavor of the ice-cream doesn’t completely hit Sebastian right away, but when it does he realizes that Kurt was absolutely correct.

This is possibly the greatest ice-cream in existence.

His temporary state of need and aching desire forgotten for the moment, he moans softly around the mouthful melting on his tongue.

“I know, right?” Kurt asks, spooning up another bite for himself.

Kurt feeds Sebastian, back and forth, spoonful after spoonful, with no other conversation passing between them except the occasional mumble of appreciation. The pint of ice-cream is nearly gone when Kurt’s wicked grin finally returns.

“There, there,” Kurt says, putting the lid back on the container. “I think that’s enough of a break for now, don’t you? I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

Kurt stands and puts the ice-cream back in the freezer. Sebastian can hear him pad across the floor, and when he opens and closes the freezer door. Kurt stays out of his sight and is back behind Sebastian before he realizes it.

“Now we get to start at the beginning,” Kurt says, opening the bottle of lube and squirting more in his hands. “And maybe my little pet has learned to stay still and keep his mouth shut?”

It’s a question, but Sebastian doesn’t dare answer it. His erection has deflated a bit, but the second Kurt’s hands, carrying the chill of the ice-cream, wrap back around his cock, his hard-on returns with a vengeance. Sebastian grits his teeth, grinding them together in his effort not to move.

“That’s better,” Kurt coos, his hand moving slowly, his other hand fondling, both moving alternately. “I like having you here to play with. I like how hard you’re trying to stay still. I need to find a way to reward you for all of your obedience.”

Sebastian is sure that means Kurt will let him cum. He’s positive of it. How much longer can he possibly go? He’s never done anything like this before, never been teased so mercilessly, and as much as he wants it to continue, he’s not sure that he can last as long as Kurt thinks he will.

Kurt’s hands disappear.

He hears the sound of more lube being squeezed from the bottle.

Sebastian, lying bound to the table, has become a single, coiled spring ready to explode and shoot across the room at the slightest touch.

Kurt’s slick hands return, roughly kneading the skin of Sebastian’s ass. A single finger runs up and down along his crack, brushing over his entrance, and Sebastian’s wrists twist, tightening the ropes.

“You have such a beautiful hole,” Kurt comments. “I bet you are so tight, aren’t you?”

His hand ghosts over Sebastian’s cock - close enough so that he can feel Kurt’s heat, but not the friction from his skin.

“God, you’re so close,” Kurt says, moaning as if he can feel Sebastian from the inside, the heat curling in his stomach, the tension in his legs. “I could just touch you until you came.”

Kurt grabs Sebastian’s hips and pulls him flush against his hard cock straining in his jeans.

“I want this,” Kurt growls, bringing his hand down on Sebastian’s ass, leaving a bright red handprint. Sebastian fights to keep still and not pull on the ropes that bind him to the table, “so I’m going to take it…”

Sebastian hears the sound of Kurt unzipping his pants, quickly, impatiently, and every inch of his exposed skin flushes with pure heat.

"I’m going to take it," Kurt continues, sucking a finger into his mouth and then brushing it over Sebastian’s entrance, "and you’re going to let me.”

Sebastian sucks in a breath.

Sebastian fucked, he didn’t get fucked. He let a boy do that to him once - a boy he was stupid enough to believe he was in love with. Sebastian swore from the day he caught that boy cheating on him with a girl that he would never fall into that trap again.

But all that aside, he has never wanted a cock in his ass so much in his life.

Then there’s the thought of being entered that suddenly strikes him like a hammer to the brain. Sebastian knows himself. He knows how he behaves when he enters a new ass…and he’s not always gentle about it. Kurt’s a Dom. His world is different. Power, control – these words have different meanings and some of those definitions go hand-in-hand with pain. Sebastian visualizes Kurt slamming into him while he tries to hold back his screams, and a cold wave of panic takes hold.

Sebastian’s body trembles while Kurt’s finger circles his entrance.

“You’re shaking,” Kurt says. “My beautiful alpha male isn’t nervous, is he?”

The safe word hangs off the tip of Sebastian’s tongue – _butterfly_. All he has to do is give it voice and let it take flight. He can hear himself saying it over and over in his head - _Butterfly! Butterfly!_

Kurt’s hand - the hand not teasing Sebastian - starts massaging the small of Sebastian’s back.

“Shhh,” Kurt says, “I promise, preppy, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll take it really easy.”

His finger slips inside, breaching past the tight ring of muscle that’s been tensing with the thought of Kurt fucking him, and Sebastian sees stars.

Not bad stars. Not the kind of stars that accompany tremendous agony.

These stars are bright and shimmer with every pass of Kurt’s finger. Kurt moves in and out of his body slowly and Sebastian melts.

“That’s my boy,” Kurt hums, deftly slipping in another finger. It stings slightly, no more than the burn on his hand from the clove cigarette. Sebastian finds himself chasing Kurt’s fingers, pushing back to follow them as they leave his body. “You’re so anxious. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer, doesn’t whimper, and Kurt continues, speaking into the silence.

“I know you do, ever since I had you bent over the pew at my club. I could tell you wanted me, and I don’t mind admitting I wanted you, too. Your gorgeous ass glowing red from being spanked…”

Kurt’s voice wavers, his fingers quickening their pace in and out, in and out, in and out.

Then the fingers disappear and there’s more rustling – then a tear.

Sebastian has opened plenty of condom wrappers. He knows the telltale sound of one being torn open.

Something blunt and large pushes against his ass, and he bites his lip.

_Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, butterfly…_

The urge to say it dims with every touch of Kurt’s cock and his fingers, with the way he works his hole open slowly, how he gently pushes in, an inch at a time, pulling back out and then sliding back in. There’s no need to rush, no power play.

Kurt’s not going to hurt him.

Kurt already seems to know how to read the signals of Sebastian’s body, stopping when Sebastian’s legs tense up, when his back arches or his wrists pull tight on the ropes. He shushes and massages, murmurs lightly, “Good boy…good boy…” until he enters Sebastian completely, and stops to admire the view of their skin flush together, of his cock deep in Sebastian’s ass, of the beautiful boy tied to his table, the one he’s dying to give pleasure to.

“There, preppy,” he mumbles with a sigh, “how does that feel?”

Speechless, Sebastian tries to come up with something, anything, that sounds even mildly intelligent, but he’s not sure there’s enough blood in his brain available to make that happen. He’ll settle for something remotely coherent, but he can’t seem to come up with that either.

“It’s alright,” Kurt says, starting with small, controlled thrusts, “we have all night. Take your time.”

Sebastian realizes that Kurt is willing to do this until Sebastian comes up with an answer, which would be fine, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. He wants more. He decides to open his mouth and say the first thing that enters his mind.

“I…oh, God…I…”

He fails incredibly.

Kurt laughs, pulling out further and then pushing back in harder.

“Try again,” he says.

“Uh…I…fuck…”

Kurt continues with the shallow movements and God, they feel so good, so intense and relaxing at the same time - why can’t Sebastian just say it? Every slight snap of Kurt’s hips siphons away all of Sebastian’s rational thinking until every word he knows is stolen from his lips, rendering his expensive education utterly useless.

“Why don’t we start out small,” Kurt says, pulling out almost to his limit and pushing back in with one, long, smooth movement, “does this feel good, preppy?”

A question. An easy question. This he can answer.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian moans and Kurt chuckles again.

“Do you want me to continue?” Kurt says, pushing harder and this time, finding something hidden, something new that makes Sebastian’s mind reel with a rush of sensations he’s never experienced before. It makes his skin tingle and his cock ache. It makes him restless and eager to move.

“Yes, Master,” he whimpers, rolling his wrists in their ropes, his legs shaking so hard the chairs rattle against the floor.

“Did you like that?” Kurt says quietly, and Sebastian can tell Kurt is fighting to hold himself together, maybe as much as Sebastian is. He pulls out and pushes back in, hitting that same spot again, making Sebastian’s toes curl.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian whimpers louder this time.

“Should I keep doing that?” Kurt doesn’t wait for an answer. He assaults that same spot over and over, and this time Sebastian can’t help struggling against the ropes, unable to stay still any longer.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian mumbles, trying to push back against Kurt’s hips, but he has pulled the ropes to their farthest point.

“Sebastian…” Kurt murmurs through trembling lips, “oh, Sebastian…talk to me, Sebastian… _please_ …”

“Y-yes…Master…”

The sound of Kurt moaning is one thing, the sound of him saying _please_ is another, but Sebastian’s name on Kurt’s lips is his unexpected weakness. It takes him from barely holding on to a state of extreme urgency. He’s going to cum. He has to. His body can’t contain itself, no matter what he wants or what Kurt commands. He’s fighting a losing battle, and Kurt’s next words make it insurmountably worse.

“Kurt,” his Dom chokes out. “Call me Kurt.”

“K-Kurt…” Sebastian is almost reluctant to say it. It doesn’t seem right, but it’s what Kurt wants and the reaction is immediate.

Kurt pounds into Sebastian faster at the sound of his name.

“Kurt!” Sebastian whines, feeling heat warp through his body over and over again. “Oh, God, Kurt!”

“Do you want to cum, preppy?” Kurt asks. It’s a question, not a taunt. Kurt’s not looking to prolong Sebastian’s agony any longer. He’s looking to relieve his own.

“Yes, Kurt,” Sebastian says, hoping he’s still allowed, for a little while longer, to call him that. “Please, Kurt.”

Kurt’s fingers wrap around Sebastian’s cock again and he knows he’s done. As much as he tries, he has no control. He’s reached that point where his body doesn’t give a flying fuck what he wants, it’s just going to do. He cums hard, even as he strains to bide his orgasm. There’s nothing in the world that can stop it now.

“Good boy,” Kurt mutters over and over, “good boy…good boy…”

Kurt pulls in close, driving himself deep into Sebastian’s body, his hips flush against Sebastian’s ass, letting his convulsing body drive itself into him over and over, relinquishing control. Kurt grunts and groans - Sebastian feels the vibrations travel from Kurt’s body to his. Sebastian shakes, his teeth chattering, and he feels weak.

He’s not sure if he’ll be able to make his legs work after this.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt moans as he drops down over Sebastian’s back. “Dear Lord, your body is so tight…so amazing.”

Sebastian smiles but doesn’t say a word. It’s not in him to be cocky at this moment, bathing in Kurt’s afterglow, when normally he would say something obnoxious.

Sebastian doesn’t want to kill the mood.

“Well,” Kurt laughs against Sebastian’s shoulder, “do you think you can walk, preppy, or should we sleep here all night?”

“I…I don’t…” Sebastian exhales quickly, finding it as hard, if not harder, to put together a coherent sentence with Kurt pressed against him as it was with Kurt pounding into him.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Kurt says, placing a kiss to Sebastian’s shoulder blade and pushing off his body. “I’m pretty sure you can’t walk. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”

Sebastian hears Kurt take off the condom and toss it away, and when he returns he carefully unties the ropes – his wrists first, one at a time, rubbing down Sebastian’s arms to get the blood flowing again. His legs receive a similar treatment - each one unwrapped and massaged, then placed flat on the floor so Sebastian can find his balance. Sebastian tries to stand but Kurt puts a hand to his shoulder – not pushing him down, but still keeping him in place.

“Stay here a moment. Let the blood circulate. I’ll be right back.”

Kurt shuffles off and this time Sebastian turns his head and watches Kurt make his way to the bathroom. At some point he must have taken off his shirt and kicked off his jeans because he saunters down the hallway gloriously naked, and again Sebastian becomes speechless. Kurt looks so comfortable in his skin, and he has every right to. This Dom is trim and muscular, obviously investing quite a bit of time and effort into keeping himself fit.

Now Sebastian can see where the flock of blackbirds comes from. They originate from a massive tree tattoo. Its roots extend across his hips and the trunk grows almost completely up the length of Kurt’s spine, with the blackbirds flying up from the branches in a mass exodus. On the back of Kurt’s neck, right at the nape, is a symbol that Sebastian can’t see clear enough to identify. Apart from those, there are rose vines growing down the backs of both his legs, so well-drawn that they almost look real - from the soft, curling petals and twining stems, to the sharp thorns.

Insanely long and sharp looking thorns.

Another piece of the puzzle that is Kurt.

Sebastian turns his head when he hears Kurt return, not sure if his Dom would appreciate him staring. He feels warm water trickle over his skin and a wet wash cloth wiping him down.

“There you are,” Kurt says, following up with a dry wash cloth afterward. “Now I don’t think you’ll stain my satin sheets.”

Kurt helps Sebastian stand, tugging him up by his arms, draping one of Sebastian’s arms across his shoulders. Kurt helps Sebastian limp along. Sebastian keeps his head bowed, not that he has much of a choice. His neck seems done with the idea of supporting his head.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Kurt asks as they approach the first door.

Sebastian shakes his head and they trundle past together.

There’s another door to their left and two on their right, but Kurt leads Sebastian to the last door at the far end of the hallway. He turns the knob and pushes it open, leading Sebastian inside.

Sebastian’s eyes lift enough to see into the dimly lit room.

This is definitely more like what Sebastian originally had in mind.

This room seems to be right out of Kurt’s club – dark wood floors, dark wood furniture, violet painted walls, heavy velvet black-out curtains covering the windows, abstract framed art hanging on the walls, and a multitude of whips/cuffs/toys laid out on every conceivable surface. In the center of the room sits a large, four-poster bed with violet sheets and a matching comforter painstakingly embroidered with beads in an intricate Celtic pattern.

Kurt pulls the comforter back and sits Sebastian on the bed, helping him swing his still quaking legs up onto the mattress. He turns to a dresser beside the bed and opens the top drawer, rummaging through the contents and pulling out a small bottle – a gold bottle with the word _Dior_ written across the side. He shows the bottle to Sebastian.

“This will help those burn marks on your wrists,” Kurt explains, reaching out and taking Sebastian’s left hand first. Sebastian watches Kurt tend to his wounds, his touch soft and soothing, such a stark contrast to the man who fucked him on his kitchen table moments before, a man covered in thorns but also roses and musical symbols and blackbirds trying to break free. Kurt treats both wrists and puts the bottle back in its hiding place. He pulls out what looks like a silk scarf and starts wrapping it around Sebastian’s wrists, tying the two together.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow and Kurt laughs.

“I have a rule,” Kurt says simply, “no one unbound in my bed.”

When Sebastian seamlessly raises the other eyebrow, Kurt laughs louder.

“And believe it or not, covering the burns will help them heal faster with that lotion on them.”

Sebastian is too tired to argue. He’s too tired to shake his head. He’s too tired to do much of anything but watch Kurt. There are other tattoos on his chest but Sebastian doesn’t take the time to admire them. He’s too focused on Kurt’s face as Kurt turns his eyes to Sebastian lying in his bed. Kurt’s blue eyes travel up Sebastian’s body, taking his time, studying him, memorizing him, trying to decide if he likes him this way. Kurt’s brow furrows. His eyes become distant, as if he’s replaying a scene in his head. One moment he looks vaguely angry, and another moment his lips curl at the corner.

He sits up, apparently content with his decision.

“Most of my personal subs, when I have one, sleep on the floor by the bed when they’ve been good little doggies…” He puts a hand to Sebastian’s cheek and trails it down his face, tracing a path over muscles and skin, skimming over his neck and down his chest, stopping above his heart, “but I kind of like you the way you are.”

Kurt covers him with the sheet on his bed, tucking him in carefully, taking more time than the task needs. Then he lies down beside Sebastian and rests his head on his chest, humming quietly as he drifts almost immediately off to sleep.

There Sebastian lays, exhausted, sated, in this surreal place with this enigma of a man sleeping beside him. Sleeping with his wrists bound might be uncomfortable, but it’s worth it to stay on the bed with Kurt’s head on his chest, curled up asleep and purring like a contented cat.


	4. A Dalton Boy with Daddy Issues - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part follows after "A Dalton Boy Looking for Trouble". Warning for bondage, sexual content, angst, biting, talk of self-harm scars (self-harm that occurred in the past - nothing at all graphic).

Sebastian has never slept with his wrists bound, and at first he’s sure he won’t be able to get any sleep. That’s alright with him, though. He’s more than content to lay still and ruminate over the whole evening – starting at the club, then the drive to Kurt’s incongruously normal house, then being dominated by Kurt.

Being _fucked_ by Kurt.

Sebastian fantasizes about sex with Kurt. He picks the experience apart and examines every second of it, lets it play in his head, lets it stir up the feeling of being full, being claimed, being _Kurt’s_. Sebastian is exhausted – his body taxed, his mind stretched to its limits, the same as if he ran fifty miles at a sprint or played three full championship games back-to-back. He didn’t realize how tiring being dominated would be. On top of that, Kurt’s bed is insanely comfortable and warm, the layers of blankets covering them trapping the heat of their bodies around them.

And then there’s Kurt – his head on Sebastian’s chest, his leg wrapped around Sebastian’s legs, his arm draped over Sebastian’s middle, hugging him protectively.

Sebastian falls asleep in seconds.

In the midst of an extraordinarily restful sleep, he has an awesome dream.

In his head, he has Kurt tied to that wooden table in the kitchen – naked, muscular, tattooed body spread out in front of him, bound, biting his bottom lip, trying not to moan as Sebastian pounds into him, his pace ruthless, his hand stinging as he spanks Kurt’s ass again and again. Sebastian feels his hips respond as he sleeps, this vivid dream trapped somewhere between waking up and sleeping, but the squeeze around his cock feels so intense, so real, he doesn’t want to chance opening his eyes and ruining it.

Sebastian feels his whole body humming, his muscles vibrating, and despite his best efforts, it lures him awake. He hears soft, muffled moans in his ear, and as consciousness enters into his brain, he recognizes his own voice making them. He tries to keep quiet, sure that his Dom will hear him and that he’ll be punished for this wet dream, but for the sensation of tight, irrepressible heat sheathing his aching cock, he can’t physically make himself stop.

“That’s it, preppy,” he hears through the fog of fading sleep. “Wakey, wakey. I’ve been waiting for you to join the party.”

“Waiting?” Sebastian murmurs, raising bound hands to his face to rub his eyes. “How long…”

Kurt stops moving and sits squarely on Sebastian’s cock. Sebastian tries to keep going, tries to move up into Kurt’s sadistically hot body, but Kurt manages to keep Sebastian stilled.

“Here,” Kurt says, taking Sebastian’s hands by the bindings on his wrists and leading them down to the base of his cock, guiding Sebastian’s fingers to where his balls rest against Sebastian’s happy trail. Sebastian fondles them gently while Kurt watches, his legs quivering at Sebastian’s inquisitive touch. They’re rock hard and pulled up painfully close to Kurt’s body.

“Jesus…” Sebastian moans with the realization that Kurt must have been fucking himself on his cock while he slept for a while now. Kurt hadn’t let himself cum yet, edging himself, waiting for Sebastian to wake up, which probably inspired that excellent dream.

“A-ha,” Kurt agrees, reluctantly pulling Sebastian’s hands away. “So, now that you’re awake, I can finish.”

Kurt leans over and paws at the bed near his right knee, searching for something that he finds relatively quickly. Sebastian narrows his eyes in the dim light and sees the bottle of lube in Kurt’s hands. Kurt pulls Sebastian’s hands towards him again, squeezing a dollop of the thick gel into Sebastian’s palms and spreading it with his fingers.

“Okay,” Kurt says, tossing the lube aside and bringing Sebastian’s hands back to his cock, sliding his erection between Sebastian’s palms. Sebastian feels Kurt shiver above him, his cock jerking between his hands, and Sebastian nearly loses it right there, right then. This isn’t the first time Sebastian has had someone else’s cock in his hands, not the first time someone has wanted him so much that they’ve shivered. But Kurt is a hundred degrees removed from those inexperienced boys he deflowers at school. He’s strong and confident, he knows himself, and he commands respect.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s hotter than the fucking sun, either.

Kurt is no boy. He’s a man, and in only two nights, he’s ruined Sebastian for any other man he may ever hope to meet.

Kurt starts to move again, lifting up and shoving forward, moaning in the most erotic way – no apologies, no shame, and without fear of being caught the way Sebastian and his conquests were at the Dalton dorms.

Sebastian can get used to this, if Kurt would let him.

Sebastian’s body responds immediately to Kurt’s, hips rolling up to meet his ass, trying to locate that one spot that will make Kurt’s toes curl. Kurt writhes above him, a pale canvas covered in beautiful dark ink, undulating like an exotic cobra - only in this scenario, Kurt is the charmer, and Sebastian the one hypnotized into following his every order.

“There we go,” Kurt says, head lolling back on his shoulders, riding the wave of Sebastian’s hips, shuddering as he tries to keep his balance, alternating between jerking off in Sebastian’s bound grasp and riding his cock. “That’s it, baby. Keep it up.”

 _Baby_. Sebastian is pretty certain that’s the first time Kurt has called him _baby_.

He usually can’t stand sweet, syrupy endearments, but Sebastian can sure as hell handle that one, especially when moaned in a voice that’s starting to fail, from the lips of a man who looks like some kinky god of fire and ecstasy.

At this crucial point, something goes haywire. Kurt’s hips stutter as he closes in on his climax, but Sebastian can’t seem to get the movements of his own hips to mesh. He’s close, too - so close. He clenches his teeth, trying not to curse as desperation mounts, not wanting to upset Kurt.

The punishment of abstinence would kill him after this.

Sebastian sees Kurt’s face contort as he tries to find their rhythm again, but he breaks his cool, grabbing at Sebastian’s hips and shoving him hard to the mattress.

“Stay still for a minute, preppy,” Kurt hisses, moving rapidly again, controlling both their bodies, and Sebastian has nothing to do but ride the crest of the sweeping orgasm that Kurt creates with his hips, his moans,  and his constant mumbling.

“Oh, preppy…oh God, yes…oh…oh, God…”

Before he cums, before he releases long and hard over Sebastian’s hands and his chest, before the throbbing squeeze of his ass around Sebastian’s cock forces him to follow, Kurt looks into Sebastian’s face – his blue eyes soft in a way Sebastian hasn’t yet seen. Kurt raises a hand to Sebastian’s face and traces his fingertips lightly down Sebastian’s cheek.

“Se---Sebastian,” Kurt stammers, saying his sub’s name with a slight hiccup, as if he meant to say something else - another name, perhaps - but he corrected himself in time. He cocks his head to the side, looking at Sebastian with a cloud of distant emotion drifting through his eyes. “Oh, Sebastian…”

Sebastian takes a chance. He feels like he’s captured Kurt at the juncture of a fantasy and this reality. He turns his head into Kurt’s hand and kisses his palm, whispering his name into his skin.

“Kurt…”

It’s a breath of the word spoken against his hand, but it has the desired effect.

“Oh, Jesus,” Kurt whimpers, releasing his death grip on Sebastian’s hips, barely acknowledging the bruises there with a subtle glance of his blown eyes. “Oh dear Lord. You’ve got quite the impressive disco stick there.” Kurt chuckles, panting to recover his breath. He reaches beneath the pillow beside Sebastian’s head to retrieve a hand towel he apparently keeps there. Kurt wipes Sebastian up, starting with the hands cradling Kurt’s shrinking cock and working up his chest and neck.

“I’m glad you enjoy it,” Sebastian responds with a smirk, happy to take any compliment Kurt has for him.

“I _do_ ,” Kurt says with emphasis, placing a kiss to Sebastian’s chest, letting it linger while he mulls something over in his mind. “In fact, I would really like to help you refine your technique, so to speak. If you agree to stay the weekend, I can teach you how to use that thing properly.”

Kurt sits straight up to see Sebastian’s expression. Sebastian’s eyebrows rise swiftly to his hairline, noticing the shadow of color filling Kurt’s cheeks.

“So…you like my stick, you just don’t like the way I use it?” Sebastian asks in a teasing tone.

“I never said that,” Kurt says, pretending to be shocked, tossing the towel aside and starting to unbind Sebastian’s wrists.

“But you implied it.”

Sebastian watches a slow smile burn on Kurt’s face, his eyes focused on his fingers unwinding the wrap.

“Maybe,” Kurt says. “Or maybe I’m saying there’s room for improvement.”

“Improvement, huh?”

“Not a lot,” Kurt backpedals. “Just a bit.” Kurt pulls the last of the wrap off carefully, discarding it near the soiled towel.

“Ah, well,” Sebastian kids, rolling his hands on his freed wrists, reviving a few stiff muscles. “How can I possibly say no to such high praise?”

“You can’t,” Kurt says, slapping Sebastian playfully, sounding excited in a childish way. “So, that’s a yes?”

Sebastian takes only a second to decide.

“That’s a yes…Master.”

“Good boy,” Kurt purrs, not looking up into Sebastian’s face but biting his lip, obviously pleased with Sebastian’s answer and his response. Sebastian ponders that moment, about Kurt’s lowered walls, his switch in mood from the strict and powerful Dom persona to this man who could – in another life - be Sebastian’s lover, requesting hopefully that he spend another night.

But in a flash, with a single blink of his eyes, the lover is locked away and Sebastian’s Dom returns.

“So if you’re staying the weekend, then today you learn the rules,” Kurt says. “I’ll tell you my limits, we’ll discuss yours, I’ll show you how to keep your stuff when you’re here, and we’ll go over what will be expected of you.”

Sebastian watches Kurt examine the marks on his wrists, the rope burns from the night before that Sebastian would keep forever if he could.

"I use a very high quality rope," Kurt explains as his eyes scan Sebastian's skin, "but on occasion you get a loose fiber here and there. If it gets under your skin, then..." His words cut off, but Sebastian gets the gist. He's gotten enough splinters before to know what happens next.

Sebastian watches Kurt's hands as his Dom looks him over. Kurt has amazing hands – as gentle as they are strong. Sebastian’s eyes move from Kurt’s hands up to his forearms - the Victorian tattoo on the right and on the left, another swirling pattern, a bit hard to make out in the muted light of Kurt's bedroom because the ink on this tattoo isn’t black – it’s silver. It looks almost filigree, delicate swirls and whorls intertwining and weaving, but somewhere in the midst of them, the lines combine and form a name. Sebastian squints his eyes and tilts his head, but he can't quite make it all out: E-l-something-z-something-something...

"Elizabeth," Kurt says, letting go of Sebastian's arms and reaching to the table by his bed for the gold _Dior_ bottle. "It spells Elizabeth. That was my mother's name." Kurt opens the bottle, applying the liquid liberally to the healing bruises, and Sebastian starts to examine the tattoo of the Victorian shears. This tattoo is dark – sinisterly dark - the ink maintaining a wet appearance, as if it were painted on his skin and applied yesterday. It isn't the intricate detailing on this pair of scissors that draws Sebastian's attention, but something else, something faint, marks underneath that the tattoo seems to hide - thin, silvery, jagged marks that cut across Kurt's arm.

Sebastian swallows.

They look like they were painful.

He wants to ask. Regardless of how little they know each other, how little time they’ve spent together, there’s a level of intimacy that comes with being dominated that has made Sebastian care for Kurt, unexpectedly fast and in unexpected ways. He doesn’t know if Kurt feels the same, but he’s hoping that glimmer in Kurt’s eyes as he takes care of him, the way he slides his finger lightly over Sebastian’s skin – he hopes that means something.

Sebastian doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath, but Kurt does. Kurt catches Sebastian as he tries to subtly release the breath, and Kurt chuckles. He follows Sebastian’s gaze, glimpsing its focus for a half second before it shifts away, and knows exactly where Sebastian had been looking.

“Take a picture, preppy,” Kurt says in that cynical way that still carries a sense of humor, “it’ll last longer.”

“I…” The syllable comes out of Sebastian’s mouth before he even knows whether or not he has permission to talk, seeing as Kurt has changed modes since their romp this morning.

Kurt sighs, taking Sebastian’s hands in his and turning them, facing them palm up. Then he places his wrists in Sebastian’s grasp, exposing his wrists and his forearms…and the scars – even some Sebastian didn’t originally see. One in particular – thicker than the rest – makes Sebastian cringe sympathetically.

“I know you want to ask, preppy,” Kurt says with an exasperated sigh, but his put-on air of aggravation hides something. Sebastian can feel it. Kurt feels uncomfortable about this, but he’s not going to lie to Sebastian; he’s not going to push it aside and leave his sub wondering. He’s open to interrogation, but he just wants to get it over with.

“Did…did you try to…” Sebastian stumbles over the question that Kurt gave him permission to ask, and that irritates Kurt. Sebastian sees it in the transposing expressions on his face.

“To kill myself, preppy?” Kurt finishes. He tries to yank his hands away, but Sebastian’s fingers close over his wrists reflexively. Sebastian hadn’t planned on it; it just happened. Kurt looks down on him, glares at him, his face twisted with what could be anger, except for no reason that Sebastian understands, Kurt stops.

He softens, letting his arms relax, allowing Sebastian to hold them longer.

“God!” Kurt says with a laugh, his demeanor switching in a heartbeat. “Do you gotta look so deep into everything, preppy? I didn’t try to kill myself.”

“Then…” Sebastian looks up, hoping his eyes can ask the question lingering in his mouth, but Kurt isn’t about to let Sebastian go that easily. He’s not there to make Sebastian comfortable – to pad the walls for him. Sebastian swallows down his reservations and speaks calmly and clearly while looking unflinchingly into Kurt’s face. “Then why would you do this? Why would you make these marks?”

Kurt’s return look isn’t sarcastic, it isn’t teasing, it isn’t mean.

It’s solemn, and in the depths of his icy blue eyes, it’s also sad.

“Once upon a time, a man thought he had total control over me.” Kurt leans down, coming nose to nose with his sub to make his meaning stick. “These marks, preppy…these marks prove that he didn’t.”

Sebastian nods and gazes down at the marks again. He’s compelled to. There’s so much anger in those cuts, so much sorrow and regret.

Sebastian has a strange, irrepressible need to kiss them away.

He shakes his head.

“I’m so---“

Kurt’s lips on his end his sentence. Kurt’s groan of frustration fills Sebastian’s mouth, followed by Kurt sucking Sebastian’s tongue into his mouth and biting it. Sebastian yelps, jumping at the nip, but Kurt bites harder, teaching him a lesson. When Kurt releases him, his tongue is in Sebastian’s mouth, caressing the bite, soothing the sting, replacing the punishment with forgiveness.

“Don’t you dare,” Kurt says, putting a hand to each side of Sebastian’s face, “apologize for stupidity that was mine and sins that belong to someone else. Do you understand, preppy?” Sebastian nods, but he doesn’t get the chance to talk before Kurt’s mouth is on his again – kissing him slower, gentler, with each swipe of his tongue against the seam of Sebastian’s lips stealing breath after breath away. Kurt’s kisses become lighter touches, and he rests his forehead against Sebastian’s, eyes closed, his head weaving back and forth in a lazy shake. “Don’t pity me, Sebastian. Not in my home, not in my club, not ever.”

“I won’t, Master,” Sebastian says, leaning forward and closing the gap, longing to kiss Kurt again, to feel his lips claiming Kurt’s the way Kurt’s body claims his, to taste his warmth, to be full of Kurt’s presence. Kurt lets Sebastian kiss him, sneaking a hand beneath Sebastian’s neck, stroking up and down his skin with brushes of his fingertips.

“Mmm,” Kurt murmurs over Sebastian’s lips, “I think we’re going to stay here and do this for a while first. You’re an incredibly good kisser.”

Sebastian wants to roll his eyes at the ridiculous blush that invades his cheek.

“Really?” he asks, the word becoming locked in Kurt’s mouth when Kurt kisses him again.

“Mmm-hmmm.” Kurt mumbles his answer, unwilling to part from Sebastian’s lips in order to speak. “Put your arms around me, preppy.” Kurt shifts his weight over Sebastian’s body, Sebastian’s cock becoming half-hard again but slipping from Kurt’s body as Kurt lies out over him. Sebastian winds his arms around him – one arm snaking around his middle, another up around his torso. He creeps a hand up into Kurt’s hair, cradling the back of his head. “Oh, yes…” In his embrace, Kurt falls into Sebastian. Sebastian feels Kurt’s body relaxes, draping over him, skin connecting symmetrically – breast to breast, stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh. Sebastian isn’t particularly fond of making out or extensive foreplay, but Kurt makes it so easy, so desirable. Lying here on Kurt’s bed, time seems to dissolve. It becomes unimportant.

Sebastian can’t ever remember getting lost in a kiss this way, without thinking in the back of his mind how long is long enough before he could stick his hand down the guy’s pants. Maybe it helps that Kurt is already naked, but he knows that has little to do with it. Sebastian is a willing victim to this sensual dance they’re performing, the balance of power swaying back and forth from Kurt to Sebastian and then back again, though Sebastian is no fool. He knows that Kurt holds all the cards. He has all the control, and for once, Sebastian likes it. He likes losing control with Kurt. Sebastian tightens his grip on Kurt’s body and Kurt whimpers, but whimpers from Kurt aren’t small, strangled, helpless sounds. They’re like lightning sparking tinder. They ignite his soul.

“I couldn’t even tell you the last time I’ve been kissed,” Kurt admits as he takes a breath.

“I’ll kiss you anytime you want, Master,” Sebastian says, pressing his lips to Kurt’s chin. He runs a hand down Kurt’s spine until he reaches his ass and casually rests his palm there, waiting for a scolding or a hand slapping his away. Kurt smirks at Sebastian’s brashness, but does nothing to deter him. He grabs a fistful of Sebastian’s hair and grips hard.

“You’d better,” Kurt says, returning to his kiss.

A knock at Kurt’s window rattles the glass and Sebastian startles, turning his face away.

“No, no, no,” Kurt says, pulling Sebastian’s attention back to him. “Let’s just pretend we’re not here and they’ll go away.”

Sebastian lies back and Kurt kisses him again, rutting against him, craving the sensation of Sebastian’s smooth skin against his cock, the slow drag that sends tingles over his shaft. A blissful silence follows and Sebastian melts back into their current routine, but whoever knocked on the window before does it again, refusing to be ignored.

“Kurt!” a voice yells - a voice so loud and urgent it sounds like it’s coming from inside the room with them. Kurt groans, breaking their kiss with an obscene noise and dropping his head to Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Elliott!” Kurt grumbles, the name manifesting as a rumble in his throat and then piercing the morning’s solitude with all the irritation in his ramped-up body.

“Kurt?” Sebastian can hear him better now that Kurt is rising off his body and climbing off the bed, taking the distraction of his sexy body away. “Kurt, I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” Kurt asks, standing on the floor, hands on hips, head hanging, his expression hidden.

 “Yeah…if you don’t mind.” Sebastian can detect the sarcasm in Elliott’s tone, and as annoyed as Kurt is, he still manages a smile, though Sebastian can’t tell if it’s an affectionate smile or the calculated smile that precedes the act of cold-blooded murder.

“No,” Kurt says. He stomps over to his closet, slides the door open a crack, sticks a hand in, and pulls out a pair of jeans and a shirt. “Why the fuck would I mind?” he grouses loudly to the window as he dresses. “What the fuck could I possibly be doing right now that I would mind you coming over unannounced and dragging me the fuck out of bed?”

“You’ll get over it,” Elliott says with a chuckle. “Now, get your ass out here.”

“Give me a fucking minute, will ya?” he gripes, sighing and running a hand through his hair, violet locks interspersing with chestnut ones. Kurt turns back to his sub, lying naked on the bed where Kurt left him, and Kurt whistles low, appreciating the view.

“Goddamn,” he says under his breath, admiring Sebastian openly. “I got dressed _why_ again?”

Sebastian watches Kurt approach, watches his swagger as he stares at him – all of him – over and over. His eyes stop between Sebastian’s legs, at the condom that slipped off his cock, now leaking cum on his sheets.

“Now I’ve _really_ got you all over my bed,” Kurt says with a tut and leaves it at that, summoning Sebastian up with a wave of his hands. “So, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to go talk to _shit brick_ out there…” Kurt yells the words to make sure Elliott hears, and the other Dom laughs.

Sebastian doesn’t like Elliott’s laugh.

“You, preppy, will practice learning your place, and _that_ is at the foot of my bed,” Kurt explains, placing a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and pushing firmly down. Sebastian obeys, dropping wordlessly to the floor on his knees. Kurt rounds in front of him to take a look at Sebastian’s posture. He bends at the waist, puts both hands on Sebastian’s knees, and spreads them open wide, which causes Sebastian’s ass to fall almost to the wood.

“Nu-uh,” Kurt scolds, readjusting Sebastian’s legs beneath him, “no ball sacks on my floor. I just polished it.”

Sebastian nearly chokes on a snort. If Kurt notices, he’s in too much of a hurry to get rid of Elliott to say anything about it.

“Now, we’re going to bend you forward,” Kurt says, pushing Sebastian into a partial bow with a hand to the back of his neck, “put your hands on your knees and look down at the floor. Always look down at the floor. You do not get to look anywhere else unless I tell you.” Sebastian does as he’s told. Overall, the position feels unnatural, and the strain on his back might get unbearable over time, but he’s determined to endure it.

Especially if it means he gets to kiss Kurt again.

“From now on, when I tell you to go to your place, this is where you’ll come, and this is how you’ll kneel. Every time you’re made to kneel, here or anywhere in my house, that means a session has officially begun until I say otherwise. Respond if you understand.”

“Yes, Master.”

Kurt takes a step back and Sebastian knows he’s looking, always looking, always getting his fill of Sebastian’s naked body in these uncomfortable positions.

“Looking good, preppy,” Kurt says. “Stay just like that until I return.” He leans in close to Sebastian’s ear, his lips ghosting Sebastian’s sensitive earlobe as he whispers, “Don’t…move…a muscle.”

With his eyes on the floor, Sebastian can see Kurt’s bare feet walk out of the room. He hears his Dom complain all the way down the hall, “Elliott…I love you, but…” until the walls between them swallow his words. Sebastian hears the front door open and Kurt’s heavy boot steps as he walks around the side of the house to outside the bedroom window where Elliott has been waiting.

“I know why you’re here, Ells,” Kurt says, not wasting a breath, “and I’m not letting you eat up my time. I have my new pet to tend to.”

Being referred to as pet should infuriate Sebastian, especially considering what the fuck they were doing before – how intimate and romantic it seemed - but it doesn’t. The title of _pet_ makes Sebastian sound like an object, something existing solely to give Kurt pleasure.

Being Kurt’s pet, being used, knowing Kurt wants it - these certainties make Sebastian incredibly hard.

“And I don’t think this new pet is a good idea,” Elliott says, not mincing words in his response.

“I love you, Elliott,” Kurt counters, “and I know you think you’re looking out for me, but I really didn’t ask your opinion.”

Someone sighs – Sebastian is sure it’s Elliott. He hears a rustle, a movement, and his body itches to stand and peek out the window to see what’s going on.

“Let’s not fight about this,” Elliott says, changing his tune - changing it in a way that makes Sebastian’s body bristle.

“Good,” Kurt agrees, aloof but flirtatious, and Sebastian realizes that Kurt hadn’t really been angry with Elliott at all.

“He’s a cute kid,” Elliott says. Sebastian grits his teeth and growls. He doesn’t mind Kurt referring to him as his pet, but Elliott calling him a kid sounds too condescending. But Elliott is a Dom. If Sebastian is going to be a part of this world – a part of Kurt’s world – he’d have to put up with him. “I bet his ass is tight, especially for a big cock like yours.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow, imagining a pattern in the wood in front of him is Elliott’s face and trying to burn a hole into it with lasers from his mind.

“Mmm, don’t you know it?” Kurt coos.

“Yeah. It’s too bad you don’t share. I think I’d like to get his ass around my cock just once so I’d know what the big deal is.”

“The big deal,” Kurt says pointedly, “is that he’s young, he’s sweet, and he’s mine. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

 _Mine_.

Sebastian’s heart does a strange _thump-thumpthumpthump_ at that word.

Sebastian belongs to Kurt and Kurt doesn’t share.

 _Mine_.

Sebastian wants that tattooed on the back of his neck.

“You don’t need a kid,” Elliott says, dropping the volume of his voice as if he realizes Sebastian could be listening in. “You never did. You need a _man_.”

“Don’t go there, Ells. You don’t know what I need,” Kurt says, his tone biting and bitter.

“Really?” It becomes quiet outside the window – no hushed voices, no arguing, but a subtle noise, like a sharp intake of breath.

Sebastian knows that gasp; he feels it travel straight to his cock, making it bob, but it also makes his heart tighten.

Elliott did something – something Kurt likes, something that made him gasp with pleasure.

Sebastian suddenly feels like an idiot. Kurt doesn’t share, but Sebastian _has to_ , and with Elliott? He has an overwhelming urge to call bullshit, get up and leave.

“Come on, Kurt,” Elliott says, his voice muffled with his lips pressed somewhere on Kurt’s body, probably his neck, “send the pet home. Spend the day with me. I’ll switch for you. Remember how hot that used to be?”

“Elliott…” Kurt moans. “That’s not fair…”

Sebastian hears them kiss, and inside his head, frantically going over his options, Sebastian roars with jealousy.

“Or don’t send him home,” Elliott continues, his voice a mimic of that seductive slide that Kurt has perfected. “Make him stay. Make him _watch_.”

Sebastian closes his eyes. He pictures that wannabe vampire kissing Kurt’s neck and Kurt trembling, the same way he did before when he and Sebastian had sex together. Sebastian can also picture running outside and sinking his fist into Elliott’s face, the rush of satisfaction at possibly breaking his nose. Sebastian doesn’t like the idea of Elliott kissing Kurt, of erasing all the invisible marks he’d left on Kurt’s lips.

“No, Elliott,” Kurt whines, “no hickeys. I’m not going to disrespect my sub.”

Elliott huffs.

“Jesus, Kurt,” he says. “You’re not actually considering this – taking that kid on as a sub, letting him come here, spend the night. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Good-bye, Elliott,” Kurt says, singsong and fed-up. Sebastian hears Kurt’s footsteps return up the walk to the door while another set of footsteps hurries off in the opposite direction and grows faint, replaced by the sound of a car door opening, then an engine firing. Tires squeal off into the distance and Sebastian knows that Elliott is finally gone.

Sebastian almost forgets to open his eyes right before Kurt saunters in, barefoot again, smelling of the morning chill from outside. Kurt stands in front of Sebastian but Sebastian pretends to take no notice, glaring at the floor as if he’s about to launch into a full-scale fist fight with the boards in front of him.

 In pretending not to notice his Dom, staring at him like the plaything he was, he also doesn’t notice how his fingers have curled into his knees, nails cutting into his flesh.

“So, you heard that, huh?” Kurt observes from his sub’s stance. “Of course you did.” Kurt turns back toward the window and curses with a sigh. “Elliott’s my friend, preppy. Friends look out for each other.”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, his focus on the floor as he was commanded, keeping his opinions to himself the way he figures a good submissive would.

The chuckle he hears from Kurt’s lips stings, but it doesn’t surprise him.

“Oh, are you going to pout now, preppy?” Kurt asks, running his hand through Sebastian’s hair, then grabbing and tugging Sebastian’s head back to look in his face.

The strain on Sebastian’s eyes to keep them cast down in this position is excruciating, but he wants to show he can be what Kurt wants.

He can be like Elliott.

Grinding his teeth out of anger – _that_ he couldn’t control.

“You know, you’ve been such a good boy,” Kurt says, leaning down to talk in Sebastian’s ear, “for the most part. I think maybe your next lesson is in order. And this is going to be a fun one.”

Kurt pulls up hard on Sebastian’s hair, his scalp screaming as he tries to figure out what his Dom wants.

“On your feet, preppy,” Kurt says, helping him out, “and get your ass back in my bed.”

Despite the angst of the last few minutes, the thoughts of Kurt and Elliott kissing outside fueling an impulse to pummel Elliott into next week, Sebastian wants to grin. He wants to giggle like an idiot. He wants to leap in bed and let Kurt have his way, but he struggles to be obedient, struggles to not look too affected by Kurt’s command.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, getting on the bed, lying on his back, looking sedately up at the ceiling.

Kurt sheds his jeans and t-shirt, and climbs back over Sebastian’s body.

“Since precious minutes of our day were wasted,” Kurt says, sarcasm flying from his words, “let’s get back on track with a little exercise…” Kurt reaches inside his pillowcase this time and pulls out another condom. Sebastian doesn’t react, but he’s quietly impressed. Kurt definitely knows how to prepare. “This morning’s lesson is going to be _me_ teaching _you_ how to fuck me.” Kurt rubs his hands together to warm them, then takes hold of Sebastian’s cock, grinning when he sees his sub suppress an urge to moan. They had started this session when Kurt had Sebastian down on his knees. All of his reactions belong to Kurt now, and Kurt is ready to play. “I’m going to stay right here and you’re going to do all the work. If you can make me cum, hands-free, you’ll earn breakfast…and an extra special reward.”

Kurt bites his lower lip when he sees Sebastian’s green eyes flicker the tiniest bit.

That definitely got his sub’s attention.

Kurt lets go of Sebastian’s erection, picks up the condom, and tears the wrapper open.

“Let’s begin.”


	5. A Dalton Boy with Daddy Issues - Part 2

Sebastian mentally pats himself on the back for his ability to become hard again so soon but in truth he's relived. He doesn't want to think how humiliating it would have been to lie there flaccid with his hot Dom straddling him, trying to teach him how to fuck. That's a lesson he would have failed spectacularly. Of course, Kurt probably has a remedy in his dom-ing repertoire for such an occasion, and even though the images that spring to Sebastian's mind are daunting, Sebastian is eager to discover what that cure entails.

Kurt rolls the condom down Sebastian's cock, which starts bobbing at the mere thought of Kurt's touch. Kurt's lips quirk at the corners watching this response from Sebastian's body. Sebastian can see Kurt thinking, his Dom's eyes narrowing and going distant. Sebastian wants to know where Kurt travels to in his thoughts - and if Sebastian is there with him – but he doesn't dare ask. He hopes someday Kurt might be willing to tell him what goes on behind his blue eyes when he stares at Sebastian this way, what he's thinking when he looks at his sub.

Sebastian wants a level of intimacy from Kurt that he's never wanted from any other man, and it's maddening. Sebastian entered into this arrangement wanting Kurt's sex, his body, and his domination.

But now he's developing a crush – a serious one.

Kurt coats Sebastian's cock in lube, stroking a couple of times to get Sebastian as hard as possible before they begin. Sebastian knows that Kurt has a gaping hole from this morning, and when he slides smoothly over Sebastian's length – slick but amazingly tight – Sebastian wants to groan, drowning in the delicious agony of it. He keeps his lips sealed tight, lifting his hips up to meet his Dom, who rides Sebastian's body down and pins him to the mattress.

Kurt is a people watcher, which makes his club, in many ways, an ideal environment for him. He spends a lot of time watching his patrons – Doms, subs, switches, slaves - all interacting, talking, grabbing drinks, starting sessions. He likes watching Sebastian, searching out his every reaction, no matter how hard Sebastian tries to hide them – the quiver and curl of his upper lip, the twitch in his cheeks, his eyes changing in hue from moss green to forest, absorbing all the light into the subtle crescents of gold that outline his pupils.

Kurt knows another man whose eyes turn into rings of gold when he gets turned on, when he wants Kurt, when he looks at Kurt the way Sebastian does now, begging to have him.

"Okay," Kurt says, his own eyes widening at the pupils, pushing aside any hint of blue. Kurt clearly enjoys this - having Sebastian beneath him, giving him orders, teaching his sub how to please him. "Now, have at it. Let me see what you've got."

Sebastian blanches.

He didn't think Kurt would come out with it bluntly like that. He thought when Kurt said _lesson_ that there would be more teaching involved. Sebastian Smythe isn't familiar with the concept of _performance anxiety_ – not in the bedroom, not anywhere. With being captain of the lacrosse team, co-captain of the debate team and model U.N., a member of Future Businessmen of America, and a Warbler, having eyes on him comes with the territory. But now, with Kurt's expectant gaze glued to Sebastian's face, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, the stress of being called upon to perform pummeled him full force, leaving him paralyzed, unable to move. If his cock hadn't been shoved deep into Kurt's hungry hole, Sebastian would have probably gone limp.

"I'm waiting, preppy," Kurt says, the laugh lines staying but the hard quality of his gaze amp-ing up.

"I…"

The word is a mistake, a slip of the tongue that Sebastian couldn't stop, and Kurt punishes him for it, slapping Sebastian hard enough to send his face flying to one side, but not hard enough to sting too much or leave too red a mark.

"Nu-uh," Kurt says, waggling his finger, "I don't recall giving you permission to speak." Kurt sits up straighter, squeezing tighter around Sebastian's cock, making the urge to moan burn in Sebastian's throat. "This is a lesson, preppy. I teach…" Kurt points to himself, sporting a smug grin, knowing the torture he's putting Sebastian through, "you learn…" He points at Sebastian, digging his fingernail into Sebastian's chest, into the skin above his sternum. "But I can't improve on what you've already got if I don't see what you can do. Now, _move_."

Sebastian doesn't speak - he learned that lesson and he intends to follow it – but he raises an eyebrow in question and Kurt's return grin shows that he understands.

"This morning doesn't really count, does it?" Kurt asks with a wave of his hand. "I mean, for one, you were asleep for most of it, and to be fair, _I_ was doing the majority of the work."

Sebastian shrugs, his lips twitching as he keeps from smiling, and Kurt laughs, figuring out the reason why.

 _Loophole_. Sebastian found a loophole to the _no speaking without permission_ rule.

"You are quite the little prick, do you know that? Jesus Christ," Kurt groans in frustration, tilting his face to the ceiling to keep Sebastian from noticing the way his smile changes, becomes bashful (something Kurt isn't too often), his skin flushing. Kurt blows out a long breath. Maybe Elliott is right. Maybe this is a mistake. Sebastian has definitely gotten to Kurt – no doubt – and not only for the reasons Elliott suspects.

Sebastian happens to be fun, confident, a bit of a smart-ass (which has always been one of Kurt's weaknesses); yes, he's gorgeous, too, but aside from that, Sebastian makes Kurt feel young. He reminds Kurt that he's human. Technically Sebastian agreed to come to Kurt's house to be his sub, but it's so much fun just _fucking_ him, not necessarily hardcore dominating. Sebastian needs discipline, but he doesn't really need domination the way other people who identify as subs do. Kurt can see himself hanging out with Sebastian – watching movies, going clubbing (at a place other than his), grabbing a burger.

But Kurt has to face facts. Sebastian has his whole life ahead of him, and this thing that they have only has the potential of lasting until Sebastian goes off to college, someplace Ivy League, no doubt. There's no way a trust fund baby would stay in Ohio after graduation. It's Ohio, for fuck's sake. Sebastian would have to be brain dead to stick around. And what the fuck would he stick around _for_? The frigid winters? The raging homophobes? Cow tipping?

Kurt?

No. Kurt needs to remember to keep his mind right, have his fun, and don't be too broken up when Sebastian gets tired of him and leaves.

Kurt brings his flittering attention back to his sub, thinking of Sebastian _only_ as his sub from here on out, not reacting to the inscrutable but cocky expression on his sub's handsome face.

"Still waiting…" Kurt teases, rising on his knees until just the head of Sebastian's cock remains in his entrance.

Sebastian doesn't know what exactly to do, what special move he's supposed to perform. Sex is just in and out for him – friction with a warm body until he cums. He's not a romantic. He doesn't hold out hope that sex will be different with his "one true love" or something like that. But without the complication of love entering into things, this morning with Kurt _was_ different. It was better. Sebastian hadn't ever questioned his own prowess, but he doesn't know how to do what Kurt does to make sex feel the way he can. Sebastian supposes experience has something to do with it, but he thought he had enough of that.

Obviously not.

Kurt told Sebastian to _have at it_ , which would normally mean that he wants Sebastian to take control, but Sebastian doesn't really have any control. He can't with Kurt. Their dynamic tips in Kurt's favor. Sebastian doesn't want to look like a fumbling virgin; he's _far_ from a virgin. He panics, lifting his hips off the bed and slamming too quickly into Kurt's body, nearly knocking him forward.

"Shit!" Kurt exclaims, righting himself. As Sebastian's ass falls back down on the bed, Kurt places his palms flat on Sebastian's chest to keep from falling to the side. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Kurt's stern expression lasts exactly seven seconds before he bursts out laughing. "That's it, preppy?" he asks through throaty chuckles. " _That's_ your killer technique?" Kurt shakes his head. "Well, you have some power behind those hips, I'll give you that. But not much finesse." Kurt moves slowly above Sebastian's body, taking Sebastian with shallow thrusts, only letting him go deep enough to keep his hard-on from deflating along with his wounded ego. "I expect to be fucked on command, preppy – any time I ask, anywhere I ask. That could be this bedroom, the kitchen, my couch, my club…" Kurt's mouth twinges at the corners. "Your car."

Sebastian's embarrassed expression goes dark with the renewed lust of wanting to fuck or be fucked by Kurt in his Porsche.

"Mmm," Kurt says, lowering down further with every move of his hips and his ass till he's sitting on Sebastian flush, "I thought that would get your attention. So, why don't you try that again?" Kurt rises back up on his knees, moving his hips in circles, teasing Sebastian's cock at the head.

It's a decadent feeling, one he wants to lie back and relish, but Sebastian obeys, trying to move again in much the same way as he did before, only slower, raising his hips, fighting against the burn in his thighs, intent solely on burying his cock completely into Kurt's heat. When Sebastian returns to the mattress, Kurt manages to look somehow less impressed than before.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and tries again, but Kurt puts a hand to his stomach, stopping him.

"Sweetheart," Kurt says, amused yet serious, "having sex or making love, it's like a dance. Do you dance, preppy?"

Sebastian opens his mouth and then closes it, nodding his acknowledgment instead.

"Good boy," Kurt says, running his fingers down Sebastian's abs, reaching back a ways to stroke his muscular thighs. "I bet you do. We're partners. We move together but one man leads. This time around you lead and I'll follow. Does that make sense?"

It does make sense – perfect sense - but Kurt's words have Sebastian picturing his Dom in a proper three-piece suit, Armani maybe, locked in his embrace, taking a turn around a dance floor. It interests Sebastian that such an image would leap to mind, seeing as formal dances of any kind – homecoming, prom, whatnot - weren't really his thing.

But this is an image he can live with.

 _Fuck me…_ he thinks, blinking his eyes a few times to wipe it away.

Kurt tilts his head and watches Sebastian's bizarre response.

"Okaaaay," Kurt says, "show me a body roll."

Sebastian actually has to stop and think, not because he hasn't done a body roll a thousand times, but doing one lying on his back with Kurt poised above his cock is a whole different story. He wants to do this right. He wants to make Kurt cum. He wants to show Kurt that he can perform the way his Dom wants him to, that he's more than some _cute kid_ \- the thought of Elliott saying those exact words showing up to haunt him at this wholly inopportune time.

Sebastian wants to earn his reward.

He tries not to think this move through, decides to just feel it, to let his body do what he knows it can do, but what his body comes up with, regrettably, turns out to be pathetic and sad.

"You call _that_ a body roll?" Kurt blurts out with a good-natured chuckle. "I think you can do better than that." He slaps Sebastian's abs with the flat of his hand. "Try again, preppy." Kurt watches Sebastian's face flush red as he tries to repeat the same move again, only not, chewing on his lower lip like a tasteless wad of chewing gum, gnawing it raw. After a few seconds of contemplation, he starts to move, but his face tightens, looking as if he's failed before he's even tried.

"Here, preppy," Kurt says, taking pity on him. "Watch me for a second." Kurt lowers himself onto Sebastian's cock. He raises his arms over his head, lengthening his back, tightening every muscle in his body, and performs the move, starting at his shoulders and rolling down his body. Kurt's body tightens around Sebastian and pulls, rising and falling with exquisite tension. This time, Sebastian moans out loud, not caring about the consequences. He doesn't think Kurt would cut him off completely just for moaning, but it doesn't matter, as the sound gets lost in Kurt's moan, the glorious sound an inspiration for Sebastian.

He _needs_ to make Kurt repeat that sound.

"Do you think you can do that?" Kurt asks, arms lowering, fingertips toying with Sebastian's nipples in continuous circles before Kurt bends over and sucks one into his mouth, his tongue taking over where his fingertips leave off. Sebastian's back arches, his body instinctually chasing Kurt's mouth, not wanting him to stop. He curls up to follow when he feels Kurt's mouth start to leave him, trying to bring him back, but the sound of Kurt moaning sharply bounces off his skin and fills his brain.

"That's it," Kurt sighs. "That was…do that again…"

Sebastian scrambles to remember what exactly he did, to make his body repeat what he didn't consciously realize he'd accomplished.

 _Come on, come on, come on…_ he repeats to himself, praying that whatever perfection he managed to pull out of nowhere would revisit him. Kurt latches over his nipple again, swirling over it with the tip of his tongue, sliding the flat of it back and forth, back and forth, send rings of sensation spiraling through Sebastian's chest, down his abs, into his cock, which suffered slowly in the sheath of Kurt's remarkable ass.

Sebastian's reaction to the touch of Kurt's tongue is beyond his control, but this time he pays better attention to how he moves when Kurt licks him, how his muscles contract to follow Kurt's tongue, how his hips mimic that movement. He doesn't' think what he does can qualify as a body roll, but whatever it is entices that wicked sound from Kurt's throat.

"Yes," he whines, sitting up straight. "Again, preppy. Do that again."

"Yes, Master," Sebastian says, repeating the move, finding it harder this way with Kurt's redistribution in weight, but managing it, feeling the head of his cock hit the spot he'd been looking for early – the spot that makes Kurt's eyes fly open and his nails rake down Sebastian's chest.

"God, preppy!" he cries, his entire body clenching. "I didn't…I didn't think you'd get it that fast."

Sebastian lets his body take over, putting more power behind the next thrust, hitting the same spot over and over, pounding into his Dom's body, grinning when Kurt's eyes roll up.

"Oh my God," Kurt moans, head thrown back, riding his sub's hips while tremors erupt throughout his body. When he looks back at Sebastian, Kurt's gaze becomes glassy. "That's it. That's the spot. God…don't stop…don't stop…" Kurt repeats like a chorus. He grabs his leaking cock and starts to pump, arms shaking, muscle spasms breaking out all over, preparing to blow his load. Sebastian pounds harder, drives his cock into Kurt's ass deeper, managing to brush that spot while immersing himself completely in Kurt's heat.

"Open up, baby," Kurt commands, voice breathy, reaching out his unoccupied hand to tap Sebastian's lips with his fingertips. "Open your pretty mouth for me." Sebastian opens his mouth just as Kurt shoots cum up his chest, hitting Sebastian's neck and chin. Sebastian leans up as best he can, fighting against his overworked abs, which convulse with the onset of his own orgasm, to catch Kurt's cum in his mouth.

Kurt leans over him, his mouth sucking at his lip, licking up the mess, arms wrapped around him, riding him harder, helping Sebastian through his own orgasm. Kurt kisses his neck, sucking, biting, and Sebastian locks his jaw to keep from screaming.

"Come on, baby," Kurt whispers. "I know you're close. Show me how much you want it."

It's an unexpected move when Kurt flips them over, and Sebastian, without any warning, finds himself on top of Kurt, still pounding, still forcing himself into Kurt's willing body, muscles so exhausted that Sebastian is ready to collapse, but he needs this. He needs to cum.

He almost cums the second Kurt is on his back, legs winding around Sebastian's waist, pushing at his ass with his joined ankles.

In what has become true Kurt fashion, everything changes, and he kisses Sebastian softly, tongue tracing over his lips as Sebastian cums, moans caged in Kurt's mouth while he continues to kiss him, fingers carding through his hair sensually, light scratches replacing rougher ones. Then, when Sebastian's knees start to slide and his legs begin to give out, Kurt pulls Sebastian on top of him.

"Don't move," Kurt whispers when Sebastian makes to roll off of him. Lying like this on Kurt's body, Sebastian can feel him breathe, can feel Kurt's heart beat straight into his chest. Sebastian listens to his body as he lays there, doing what feels right, and starts a trail of light kisses down the column of Kurt's neck, encouraged when Kurt moves his head to give him more room. Sebastian stops at the hollow and laps gently, feeling Kurt hum beneath his lips.

Kurt swallows hard.

He would never let a sub touch him like this – ever.

He's indulging. Why the fuck not? He's not hurting anyone but himself. Pain happens to be his business, and with this beautiful boy on him, stirring up feelings he hasn't had in nearly a decade, business is good. It's something he can keep with him, let grow like a crown of thorns around his heart, like a bezoar in his stomach. It will harden him against any other snarky or doe-eyed teenagers that might show up at his club.

Kurt begins to imagine what the tattoo he'll dedicate to Sebastian will look like, and where on his body he's going to put it.

"The bottom drawer of the dresser is yours…for now," Kurt says, cursing the way his voice shakes as Sebastian starts to suck a mark into his skin. Kurt should stop him. He should really stop him, but his hand holds Sebastian's head closer, urging him to suck harder. "Stay the fuck out of my closet."

"Yes, Master," Sebastian says. He doesn't laugh out loud, but Kurt can feel it in the way his breath puffs out against his neck. Sebastian moves down an inch and starts on another mark.

"Just so you know, we're going to the club tonight," Kurt continues, reaching down to adjust the position of his half-hard cock sandwiched between them. Fuck it if he doesn't want to go again.

"As you wish, Master," Sebastian says, stopping for a breath, but Kurt pulls him back, and Sebastian chuckles into mark number three.

"It's…uh…it's baby and littles night, so you'll have to dress up," Kurt continues, having a harder time keeping his voice steady as Sebastian's tongue swipes over a sensitive area of skin. Sebastian feels the shiver, the goose bumps that form, and he attacks that spot. Kurt moans, rutting against Sebastian's stomach, but his own mention of his club brings Kurt rocketing back to earth, and he pushes Sebastian away.

What will the other Doms say when they see these marks? What will _Elliott_ say? He can't wear a collar, not tonight. Thank God for Kat Von D. He's going to need a shitload of cover-up to fix this before tonight.

"Stop, preppy," Kurt says, squirming away from Sebastian's mouth, turning the two of them onto their sides and pulling reluctantly off of his sub's cock. "You're going to make me look like a fucking leper."

Sebastian knows Kurt doesn't want him to stop, but he backs off anyway and gives Kurt his space. Kurt fusses with the condom coming loose from Sebastian's cock, slipping this one off and tying it so it doesn't leak and further ruin his sheets. He turns to toss it in the trash, and when he turns back, he sees the hint of retreating hurt and confusion in Sebastian's face. Kurt rolls his eyes. How did he end up with such an inquisitive sub?

Kurt shudders internally at all the rules he allows Sebastian to bend.

"I know you have a whole basketful of questions," Kurt says, "so out with them. You have my permission to ask away. But just so you know, I don't have to answer dick it I don't want to."

Sebastian nods.

Kurt thinks he knows what Sebastian is going to ask.

He ends up being way off the mark.

"Does your dad know…you know…what you do for a living?" Sebastian asks with none of his usual bravado.

Kurt's laugh sounds like an indecisive hiccup. The question, "Why do you care?" lingers on his tongue - his gut reaction to anything that hits too close to home. Kurt almost doesn't answer. He decides it's an innocent enough question though. He doesn't need to be a hard ass, especially when they're in each other's arms like this, and he's busy enjoying the feeling of Sebastian's skin against his.

"Yeah," Kurt says, not shirking the question. "Yeah, he does."

"Has he ever been to your club?"

"Nah," Kurt says, looking down at his fingers on Sebastian's chest instead of into his sub's all-too perceptive eyes. "It's not exactly his scene."

"But he has no objections?"

Kurt shrugs. Between the arguments about whether or not Kurt would be able to break even, not to mention make a profit, and the discussions over _what would your mother say_ , Kurt never thought to ask. He just assumed his dad hated it.

"He's not the biggest fan. He thinks I missed my calling."

"Your calling?" Sebastian asks, wrinkling his nose. "What was that?"

Kurt looks at Sebastian, seeing only honest curiosity in his eyes, but Kurt's not ready for this. Not yet.

"You know, I think that's enough questions from you today, preppy."

"But…"

"I can't tell you everything in one day," Kurt reasons, keeping the mood light by lowering a hand to Sebastian's ass cheek and giving it a squeeze. "Then there would be no mystery. I wouldn't want to bore you or anything."

Sebastian tightens his lips and drops his eyes. He's not going to win this battle. Kurt is too strong-willed.

"Hey, I'm not prying into _your_ daddy issues," Kurt says, shoving Sebastian at the shoulder.

Sebastian scoffs.

"I don't have any daddy issues, Master," Sebastian sneers.

"Oh, please, preppy," Kurt responds with a high-pitched laugh. "You have _daddy issues_ written all over you."

"Whatevs," Sebastian grumbles, but Kurt's raised eyebrow keeps him from continuing. "Uh, do you want me to wear my school uniform then, Master?"

"Tempting…" Kurt rolls off the bed and heads to his closet, sliding the door open and rummaging around through the row of clothes. With the door open wider this time, Sebastian can see Kurt's selection of outfits - mostly dark jeans, various leather items, torn up shirts, but some items further back behind a small army of zippered white suit bags look like they might be designer, "but I have something even better in mind, if I can find it…ah!"

Kurt pulls out a hanger with a khaki shirt and olive shorts hanging off it, complete with a sash covered in colorfully embroidered patches.

Sebastian chuckles as Kurt holds the uniform proudly aloft.

"You were a Boy Scout, Master?" Sebastian asks.

"Would that be so hard to believe, preppy?" Kurt asks, sounding deeply offended. Sebastian's next chuckle dies a quick death at the scowl on Kurt's face.

"No, Master," Sebastian says, his smile dying along with his laugh. "Not at all, Master. I just meant…"

Kurt snickers while Sebastian stumbles over the commentary lodging like a foot firmly in his mouth.

"Don't sweat it, preppy," Kurt says, laying the uniform at the end of the bed, tugging on the hem of the shirt to smooth out the wrinkles. "No, I wasn't a Boy Scout. I refuse to join any organization that would have me as a member. Though, I personally don't think they'd take me even if I wanted to join." Kurt crawls back up the mattress to lie beside his sub. "No," he explains, fingertips following the scratches on Sebastian's chest, "I bought this at a thrift store. I think it'll fit you, but if it's a little tight, well, then that's even better." Kurt's eyes, still blown in their centers and full of that enticing raw need that seemed to become a permanent resident in the last few hours, meet Sebastian's, locking on and holding tight. "But before we do that, I think I remember saying something about a reward." He takes Sebastian's bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, not too hard, tugging lightly. "I think," he says, switching to kisses, traveling down Sebastian's chin, "that you've earned it."


	6. A Dalton Boy with Daddy Issues - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're backtracking a little bit, and I'm sorry, but there's parts in the middle I didn't post, so here they are. <3

Sebastian’s reward for a passable fuck turns out to be a shower with his Dom. Actually, as far as Sebastian is concerned, it’s the perfect reward. Sebastian didn’t even realize that he craved this intimacy, and showering with another person always seemed like the personification of intimate to him. Not that he had ever had the opportunity to shower with someone else, not unless you count the gym locker room showers at Dalton, or the pool locker room showers at the country club his parents dragged him to – which Sebastian didn’t.

This perception of intimacy came from watching an awful porno with his friends once when he was thirteen. It was guy on girl, and pretty raunchy, but there was this one shower scene in particular that made him hot. Not because it was sexy. Even horny, pre-teen Sebastian could tell it was totally staged. These were actors, banging to earn a buck. They weren’t in love. He wasn’t even sure they liked each other, with the way the actor sort of rolled his eyes when the actress told him to eat her out, and the way the actress sneered at the man’s penis when he pulled it out of his pants, then had to pretend to be over the moon about putting it in her mouth.

But the atmosphere, the setup: the guy undressed the girl (she was dressed in a cheerleader’s uniform – the height of classy), pulling her skirt down her legs and lifting her top off over her head, all the while kissing her shoulders, her neck, and touching her – her stomach, her arms, her breasts. Then she undressed him, a lot the same way – pants and shirt, followed by kisses and touches that looked sensual to someone with no sexual experience. When they got into the shower with the steam surrounding them, they bathed each other, kissing and touching under the spray. She went down on him for a bit. He turned her around and took her from behind. And that was it for Sebastian. He knew that someday, if he could ever find a willing partner, he would have to try showering with them.

Kurt and Sebastian are already naked, so the undressing step gets left out, but considering everything they’ve done that morning, Sebastian doesn’t mind shelving that for the time being. They use the shower in Kurt’s master bathroom, right off his bedroom - a much different, much larger room than the bathroom down the hall. This bathroom is painted the same gold shade as the first bathroom, and has candles all around, but that’s where the similarities end. This bathroom has an enormous shower/tub. It’s so large, it’s the focal point of the whole room. It must have been specially made because Sebastian has never seen a shower that big – not even in his father’s house. Instead of a shower curtain, it has a door, and through the frosted glass, Sebastian sees the blurry silhouettes of various implements – chains, hooks, rings, and cuffs – installed into the walls.

Kurt steps into the shower first and turns on the water, adjusting the temperature until it’s just the way he wants it. Then he beckons his sub.

“Spread eagle, preppy,” Kurt commands, pushing Sebastian toward the wall. “Fingertips on the tile.”

Sebastian puts his hands on the shower wall, his body half-in/half-out of the fall of water, and spreads his legs shoulder width apart. Kurt taps on the insides of Sebastian’s wrists, signaling him to spread his arms wider, and then kicks gently at his ankles to make him move them further apart.

“There,” Kurt says. “Now, you’re gonna balance on your fingertips.” He pushes down on the back of Sebastian’s head. “Keep your head bowed, keep your eyes on the floor.”

This modified push up position Kurt has put Sebastian in is oddly effective. With his weight pressing against his fingertips, Sebastian’s arms, back, and legs tense, and his hands are already getting sore. He can’t move quickly if he wants to, and it spreads his body out, puts it on display. Sebastian feels the flow of water on his shoulder disrupted for a second, then a touch to his skin. It’s silky, soapy, and moves in circles, pressing firmly on his muscles. A river of suds slides down his back and between his crack, continuing on down the inside of each leg. Kurt washes Sebastian in silence, though the sound of Kurt thinking fills the space, forming tension – not uncomfortable, just _there_ , like a wedge between them. A proverbial multi-colored elephant in the room.

Kurt reaches Sebastian’s ass, and Sebastian’s muscles twitch.

“You still need to get used to me touching you,” Kurt says, sliding a bare hand between his cheeks, “especially like this.” Kurt’s soapy finger finds Sebastian’s entrance and circles, expecting resistance, but instead, Sebastian becomes hard. He locks his knees, fighting the urge to buck back.

“And you need to learn to control this,” Kurt chuckles, hanging the washcloth off Sebastian’s hard cock.

“How…how do I do that…Master?” Sebastian mutters, biting back moans as Kurt’s circling finger starts teasing its way inside.

“By relaxing your body.” Kurt answers in soft tones, layering kisses on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Trust me. Give yourself to me,” he whispers, dipping his finger inside to his first knuckle and back out again, delighting in the strain on Sebastian’s face, his young sub trying so hard to keep still and quiet. “Give me control of your reactions, and let your mind drift away. Let it take away your worries and your fears. Find a place where you have complete calm, total submission. It’s like meditation. Disconnect, and trust in discipline to take over.”

“That sounds…confusing, Master,” Sebastian admits, trying to detach like Kurt says while his Dom’s tongue distracts him, flickering along his spine.

“Hmm, it’s a difficult thing to put into words,” Kurt says, steadily moving down, down, until he’s lapping at the base of Sebastian’s spine, above his hips, Kurt’s wet hair brushing against his ass. “It’s something you have to experience. You have to find that place, and then remember how you got there.”

“And…h-how...do I…find it…Master?” Sebastian’s nails dig in to the tile as Kurt’s finger moves faster in and out, in and out, then disappears, giving Sebastian a moment to breathe.

“Practice,” Kurt says. “Lots and lots of practice.” His tongue replaces his finger in Sebastian’s ass, and Sebastian’s jaw clamps tight, his back arches, his eyes squeeze shut. He feels Kurt tug the washcloth off his cock, and then a sharp, wet slap on his shaft.

“Practice, preppy,” Kurt scolds, the words ghosting over his puckered hole. “Clear your mind, let your muscles unwind, and control this.” Another slap, followed by a lick. “Your body’s mine, preppy.” He licks again. “Give me control.”

Sebastian nods even though he knows Kurt probably can’t see, but not a single word has any hope of leaving his mouth, not when he’s powering against need. He tries to give in, but there’s just some things his body isn’t willing to do. He blows out a deep breath and focuses on something else – Calculus, the Periodic Table, his lacrosse stats from the last year. But lacrosse turns out to be a mistake, because he thinks of running, sweating, straining, pushing himself to his limits. He thinks of gripping his lacrosse stick in his hands, squeezing the shaft and twisting, just as Kurt takes his cock in his fist.

Sebastian never realized how fucking sexual lacrosse could be. How did he miss that?

He has practice coming up in a few days. He knows right now that his headspace is going to be totally fucked after this.

A single stroke from Kurt, and Sebastian’s knees go weak.

“Hold on, preppy,” Kurt says, nudging Sebastian back up. “I’m not done here.”

“M-master,” Sebastian pleads. “Master, please…oh, God...”

“Shhh,” Kurt says, stroking faster, “remember to focus. Concentrate. Let your mind drift. Let it go.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Easier said than done. Plus, he didn’t need the Disney reference. He wants to cum so badly, and everything not related to his balls or his dick hurts like a motherfucker as he fights to stay standing and stop shaking.  

Kurt speeds up…then slows down…speeds up…then slows down, sucking Sebastian’s balls into his mouth one at a time. Tremors rack Sebastian’s muscles, cramps threaten his legs and arms already stretched to the brink.

“Master…” Sebastian mewls.

“Don’t cum,” Kurt sings.

“But I…but I can’t…”

“Just relax…”

 _Fuck relax!_ Sebastian thinks when an image of him pinning Kurt beneath his body and fucking his mouth pops into his brain, and he knows he’s on the verge of exploding. Kurt’s somehow crawled in front of him and starts sucking him off, mouth on his cock and his slicked finger back in his ass, pushing and pulling, milking him relentlessly. If there is some warm, drifty, happy place waiting for Sebastian to get to it, he’s going to overshoot it by a mile when he blows his load in his Dom’s face, and after that, Sebastian’s sure he won’t be allowed to cum for the remainder of the weekend.

“M-master…” Sebastian mumbles, a plea and a warning.

Kurt seems to listen. He pulls away.

“Relax, preppy…” Kurt murmurs the words over Sebastian’s shaft then sucks hard again.

“I…I can’t relax,” Sebastian whines.

“Breathe.”

“I…” Realizing it’s a command and not a suggestion, Sebastian pulls steamy air into his lungs. The deep breath calms his orgasm down but Kurt’s mouth and his fingers, two inside him now, speed it up again. “I…God damn! I…I… _fuck!_ ”

In a second, Kurt’s gone, Sebastian’s body throbbing around nothing – his cock pulsing with no mouth around it, his ass clenching with nothing inside, and then a blast of cold water, accompanied by Kurt’s hand clamping hard on his balls stops everything.

“Fuck!” Sebastian barks. “Fuck, fuck, fu---“

A sharp slap to his balls takes his breath completely away. He bends over, gasping in the cold, mouth gaping around a scream that’s never going to come, stuck inside his throat, curled inside his stomach, knotted with pain.

“Control,” Kurt says, voice firm but sultry. “Control your outbursts, control your body, control your language. Do you understand, preppy?”

Sebastian still can’t speak, so he nods.

“Good,” Kurt says, patting Sebastian on the shoulder. “We’ll practice that more later.” Kurt turns away from his suffering sub and reaches for the faucet to turn the water off. He stands with his hand on the knob, but then twists it in the opposite direction, making the water warmer.

“Why don’t you bathe me,” Kurt half asks, half commands, handing the wash cloth back to Sebastian with all the confidence in the world that his sub is going to take it.

And even though he’s battling epic issues with his balls retreating straight up into his stomach and his cock withering into invisibility, Sebastian does.

Because this seems like an opportunity that may not come around often, and he wants to jump at it.

He starts at Kurt’s shoulders, and with his first touch, Kurt leans into it, head tilted back, eyes drifting shut, giving himself the opportunity to enjoy Sebastian’s attention. Sebastian has never bathed anyone but himself before, but he tries to make it good for his Dom – massages his back with the wash cloth instead of just wiping. Then, as an experiment, he trails a finger down the side of Kurt’s cheek, to his jaw, and then his neck, to see what his Dom might say. Touching Kurt this way, it’s all part of the fantasy, but not the fantasy in his mind.

The fantasy that is _Kurt_.

Kurt’s head lolls further back until it hits Sebastian’s shoulder. He hums under the pressure of Sebastian’s hand on his back, and the other hand venturing down his chest, the backs of his fingers brushing over his nipple, then lingering there, circling over the hard nub, letting the soap slip down between them, adding an element of smooth to his touch.

Kurt’s head sways back and forth on Sebastian’s shoulder, stopping when his nose brushes Sebastian’s jaw. Lazily, he opens his eyes.

“Kiss me, preppy,” Kurt whispers, not waiting for his sub to meet his lips before he claims his. Sebastian feels Kurt’s hand cover his, the hand without the wash cloth, the hand that’s been exploring without permission, and drags it down his body, lower and lower, until Kurt settles it around his cock. He wraps Sebastian’s fingers around it, then moves it at the wrist, stroking himself with his sub’s hand. But after a few strokes, Kurt lets go. “Just like that,” he moans into Sebastian’s mouth, and returns for another kiss.

Back and forth they go between Kurt needing to kiss him, and needing to look into his eyes. Kurt’s gaze flicks down to Sebastian’s mouth, and Sebastian kisses him, pulling back when he feels his Dom back away. They communicate like this, without words. They don’t need them. Not here. Not doing this.

For long stretches, Kurt just stares into Sebastian’s face, looking up into his eyes while his sub strokes him, lips parting when his body shudders, caught in a mass of sensation between the hot water, the cold tile, and the slick of his sub’s soapy hand.

“Oh…” Kurt whispers when the shudders come more quickly. “Yeah, that’s…” Kurt licks his lips. “That’s…uh…fuck, Sebastian…” Kurt’s murmurs fade into the stream of water hitting the tile. Sebastian speeds his strokes, but Kurt puts a hand over his, slowing him back down. “Don’t…” Kurt whispers, “just…stay like that…”

“Do you want me to kiss you, Master?” Sebastian whispers, bending forward, preparing to give his Dom a kiss.

“No,” Kurt says, his voice quiet, disappearing. “No…just…Sebastian…Sebastian…God…”

Kurt’s lips part and his body trembles, but other than that, Kurt gives Sebastian no sign that he’s cumming. When he does, it’s subtle, with a catch in Kurt’s throat, a tightening in his abs, and the feeling of hot and wet spilling down Sebastian’s leg. Sebastian suspects that this is what Kurt means when he talks about control. His body’s relaxed, his eyes distant, and Sebastian wonders if his Dom even sees him standing in front of him in the shower.

“Master?” Sebastian whispers, kissing Kurt around the seam of his mouth, lightly, barely there. Kurt’s eyes shift left and right, then back into Sebastian’s. Kurt’s sarcastic grin returns, but it doesn’t look as easy as his others. It’s almost like it’s there to cover something, hide something from Sebastian.

“Well, you get an A+ for that one,” Kurt says. “Get a lot of practice jerking off, do ya?”

“Harsh, Master,” Sebastian says, pulling his hand away. Kurt stops him, curling his fingers back over his softening cock.

“No, no, no,” Kurt says, wrapping himself inside Sebastian’s arms. “That hand stays there in case I need it again.”

“But, weren’t we going to…”

“In my house, I do what I want to do,” Kurt says, pinching Sebastian’s cheeks, “and you do what you’re told.” Kurt flicks his fingers off Sebastian’s cheeks with a snap against his skin that stings.

“So, what is it you want to do, Master?” Sebastian asks, eyes darting down to look at Kurt’s cock in his hand, gorgeous even in its flaccid state.

“We’re going to stay in this shower, preppy,” Kurt says, pushing Sebastian back against the tile, “and you’re going to kiss me until the water gets cold.”

“And then, Master?” Sebastian asks, his lips already on Kurt’s.

“Then” – Kurt smiles – “you’re going to kiss me some more.”

 

 

 

 


	7. A Dalton Boy with Daddy Issues - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we're going back a bit. I hope I don't lose anyone with these time jumps. xD So, just to recap, this is part of that first weekend Sebastian stays at Kurt's house, so Sebastian is going to be a little snarkier, a little less in touch with his submissive side, and super eager to do whatever it takes to get into Kurt's pants. He does a lot of introspection during this chapter. There's more parts to this installment, but the next one will have some Blaine Anderson wank, so I thought I would divvy them up.

Breakfast time turns to lunch time before Kurt gets them out of the shower and into the kitchen. He throws on a black tank and a pair of matching, loose fitting, lounging-around-the-house pants. Sebastian, however, is no longer allowed to wear clothes without his Dom’s permission, so after he dries, he leaves the bathroom naked and follows Kurt to the kitchen. Sebastian stops when they get there, unsure where he’ll be expected to sit/stand/kneel. If his _official_ spot in the house is kneeling at the foot of Kurt’s bed, he can’t assume that he’ll be allowed to sit down at the kitchen table with his Dom. After having spent hours at Kurt’s feet in his club, he doesn’t foresee too many chairs in his future.

Kurt turns when he realizes Sebastian has stopped following him. Deciphering the look in his eyes, he gestures to the table.

“You’ll sit here _for now_ ,” Kurt emphasizes, “while we have a bite and discuss business.” He opens a drawer, pulls out a stapled bundle of papers that looks suspiciously like a contract, and tosses it Sebastian’s way.

“Read through that,” Kurt commands, talking to Sebastian with his back turned as he forages around the kitchen. “And don’t just skim. Every word in that document is important. I want you to completely understand what it is we’ll be doing here.”

“Yes, Master.” Sebastian feels like he’s back at school, sitting in history class and reading through a syllabus written by one of Dalton’s most by-the-books professors, Dr. Eric Carle, except that A.P. European History was never this interesting…or intimidating, not for all of Dr. Carle’s thin-lipped scowls and antiquated “grading on a bell curve”. Sebastian flips through the pages while Kurt works. He fires up the stove, grabs a pan from overhead, bowls from a cabinet, and gathers a few things from the fridge. Sebastian watches curiously from the corner of his eye. His Dom commanded him to read, not to watch, and he doesn’t want to get caught breaking any rules, but Kurt is way too interesting to ignore, even while doing mundane things like cooking breakfast. _Especially_ doing something as mundane as cooking breakfast. Kurt seems like the kind of man for whom _mundane_ doesn’t exist. Sebastian finds it difficult to picture Kurt doing anything domestic, this man who controls others with a riding crop and leather cuffs performing everyday chores like laundry, scrubbing the toilet, or mowing the lawn.

Or filing his taxes.

What _does_ his list of work-related expenses look like?

It must read like a tawdry novel, or the prop list for a porn video.

Sebastian bites his lips together hard so he doesn’t laugh.

He watches Kurt drop something into a pan, something that sizzles on contact. Sebastian takes a deep breath in. It’s bacon.

“God, that smells good,” Sebastian sighs, hunger talking for him before sense can kick in, his stomach growling a second later in agreement. He doesn’t realize at first that he said it out loud, but the second he does, he immediately worries he’s going to get punished for talking without express permission. This _express permission_ thing is new to him, and will probably annoy the ever living shit out of him long before he gets the hang of it.

But Kurt chuckles.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says. “But next weekend, _you_ get to cook for _me_.” Kurt peeks over his shoulder to make sure his new sub is being a good boy and doing what he’s told. “You _can_ cook, can’t you?”

“Oh, sure, Master,” Sebastian answers, eyes glued to the page in front of him. “If you consider fire extinguisher foam a spice, then you should definitely enjoy it.”

Kurt’s brows shoot up. He observes his sub, reading obediently, with only the subtlest trace of amusement twitching his lips, and tries to determine whether the boy’s kidding or not.

He decides it could go either way with Sebastian. Better to play it safe.

“Maybe I should stick to the cooking from now on until I can teach you a few things.”

Sebastian catches a suggestive implication in those words. It might just be him projecting because he hears a slant to _everything_ Kurt says now. But he has to smile to himself. Of course, he knows how to cook. His parents’ personal chef, Louise, has been giving him lessons from the moment he toddled into the kitchen. Louise felt that cooking was an essential skill, whether you’re rich enough to employ an entire army of chefs or not, and that the only people who refuse to take the time to learn are ignoramuses who are obviously willing to starve.

But one of the first lessons she taught Sebastian was that cooking is an expression of love. To prepare a meal for someone is to fulfill an essential need. Food is comforting, sustaining, life affirming.

It expresses, without words, you’re glad that they exist in the world.

Even though Kurt actually seems at ease in his French-inspired kitchen, Sebastian could probably run circles around Kurt, culinarily speaking. That doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easy on him. Kurt isn’t the only one here who gets to have fun, whether Kurt knows it or not. Sebastian may not know what he’s gotten himself into, but Sebastian would like to think that neither does Kurt.

Sebastian is on page eight of what has to be a thirty page document, printed front and back, when Kurt comes to the table carrying two plates. Sebastian looks up and notices that where Kurt’s plate contains a single waffle smothered in fresh fruit, Sebastian’s plate is piled high with waffles, fruit, eggs, and bacon.

Sebastian cocks a brow and looks at Kurt as he sits in the chair across from him and starts in on his single waffle, wondering when the other eighty-two people Kurt expects are going to arrive for breakfast.

“Is this…all for me, Master?” Sebastian asks over the pile of food sitting in front of him.

Kurt meets his gaze and mirrors his cocked brow expression. “Yes, it’s all for you. Eat up, preppy,” he says, seeming momentarily embarrassed. “You need to keep up your strength. We’ve got a lot of things to cover today.”

Sebastian smirks out of habit, but squashes it quickly. “Thank you, Master,” he says in a tone more seductive than submissive. He grabs a strawberry off the plate and pops it into his mouth. At this moment, it is literally the most scrumptious piece of fruit in existence, and not because he’s starving. Kurt cooked for him, fixed this plate just for him. Sebastian is there to serve Kurt and yet Kurt made him this marvelous meal. Granted, Sebastian has no clue how he’s going to eat it all, and he doesn’t know whether or not he’ll be punished if he doesn’t, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. Sebastian eats and reads, re-reading certain passages a number of times when he realizes that Kurt’s eyes haven’t left his face since he sat down.

“Is there something on there that you don’t understand, preppy?” Kurt asks.

“No, Master,” Sebastian says, reaching for a slice of bacon. “I just want to make sure that I read every word, like you said.”

“Good boy. Here.” Kurt passes Sebastian a pen. “Put your initials next to the things you agree to, an ‘x’ next to the things you don’t, and a question mark beside the things you’d be willing to try. The things that are not negotiable on my end are printed in red. Those are the things I positively won’t do under any circumstances.”

Sebastian jumps ahead to a few of the red items. They mostly include things that Sebastian finds revolting anyhow – urine, feces, diapers, extreme blood play, needles. God, he doesn’t even want to know what anyone would do with _half_ of those.

“Then, why are they on here, Master?” Sebastian asks.

“It’s preemptive, so if you become interested in any of that stuff later on, you can’t say that I didn’t tell you.”

Sebastian nods. “This is…extremely thorough.” And it is. He’s sat in on his father negotiating takeovers with contracts thinner than this.

“I have to be,” Kurt says. “For my safety and yours. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. Communication is key in this relationship, probably more so than most relationships. You’re trusting me with your body – the care _and_ abuse of it. If we don’t have communication, then someone will get hurt.”

 _Sounds reasonable_ , Sebastian thinks.

He’d been on the fence for a grand total of seven seconds as to whether or not he should have a lawyer look this contract over, but that’s only because he’s his father’s son. But that makes him curious if there _are_ lawyers who handle these kinds of arrangements. Did Kurt have a lawyer help him draw this up? Maybe during a session, with the man tied to one of those pews at the club, while Kurt flogged him?

Kurt said he had a pew at his house. Sebastian gets a mental image of Kurt helping him with his econ homework that way, grilling him over the principles of macroeconomics while he wallops away at Sebastian’s ass with his rose flogger.

Sebastian has to lock his knees together to keep from getting hard, especially since he’s supposed to be learning to control that.

 _Calm down, buddy,_ he mutters in his mind. _You’re not supposed to be joining the party without permission._

Sebastian starts putting his initials next to things – bondage with scarves, yes; bondage with rope, yes; bondage with leather cuffs, yes; bondage with metal cuffs, yes; bondage with razor wire? Hell no.

Suspension? Maybe. Depends on what that entails…

Anal hooking? What the…? Fuck no! Well…maybe…

Watersports…like what? Wakeboarding? Diving? Water polo? What the hell does that have to do with BDSM? A tentative maybe.

Biting, yes.

Nipple clips…maybe.

Testicle cuffs…maybe.

Chastity/cock cages…uh, what’s the point of…? Oh, fuck it! Maybe.

Sebastian looks back over the items he’s marked, and notices with surprise that there are way more yeses and maybes than definite nos. He would have never guessed that in a million years.

This contract is teaching him something about himself that he never knew before.

Nearly half the food on Sebastian’s plate is gone by the time he gets three-quarters of the way through reading. He hits on a passage that seems particularly relevant to their current situation, and stops.

“This says I kneel at your feet at meal times, and that you feed me from the table,” Sebastian says. He looks at Kurt, whose eyes have suddenly gone dark. It looks like a challenge. Or maybe an invitation. Sebastian pushes his chair back. He doesn’t stand, but slides to the floor, crawling over to his Dom’s feet. “You mean…like this?” He stops beside Kurt’s chair, raising his eyes up at him in question. Kurt puts a hand to the back of Sebastian’s head and tilts it down, redirecting his sub’s gaze to the floor.

“Like that,” Kurt corrects. Seeing Sebastian on his knees by his chair makes Kurt’s heart thump, each pump circulating blood straight to his cock. _God, it’s been so long…_

“Are you hungry, preppy?” Kurt asks, licking his lips. But it’s Sebastian, not the food, that looks delicious.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, even though he’s really not all that hungry – not for food anyway. “Yes, I’m hungry.”

Kurt reaches for a slice of bacon off Sebastian’s plate and swirls it in a pool of syrup.

“Here, preppy.” Kurt holds the piece of meat beneath his sub’s nose. “Lick.”

Sebastian keeps his eyes lowered. He’s determined to play this game to the best of his abilities. He sticks out his tongue and licks, running just the tip up one side of the bacon strip and down the other, collecting all the syrup and gently swiping the tips of Kurt’s fingers to boot.

“Now eat,” Kurt commands.

Sebastian doesn’t take the whole strip into his mouth at once. He starts at the far end and nibbles down the length, following with his tongue over his lips when he reaches the last bite.

“Clean.” Kurt presses his sticky fingers to Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian doesn’t know how Kurt’s other subs perform this action. He imagines it’s done as perfunctorily as possible. But Sebastian has motives other than obedience. Outdoing Elliott, for one. But maybe another lesson back in Kurt’s bedroom? Sebastian wraps his tongue around Kurt’s fingers one by one, drawing them in to his mouth, sucking the syrup and the bacon juices off slowly. He contemplates whether moaning while he does this would get him into any kind of trouble, but Kurt begins murmuring, “Oh, God…yes…your mouth is so fucking hot. So fucking hot and so fucking perfect,” with his free hand already palming his cock. From where Sebastian kneels at eye level with Kurt’s crotch, he can see his Dom’s cock growing. Sebastian watches Kurt’s hand yank down the elastic to his waistband, freeing his erection for Sebastian’s view. The hand at Sebastian’s lips grabs the hair at the back of his head and pulls him forward.

“Here, preppy,” Kurt says, shoving his cock past Sebastian’s lips and into his mouth, straight to his throat. “Suck on this.” Sebastian scoots forward, attacking this task enthusiastically, but he doesn’t really have control. Kurt is simultaneously shoving Sebastian’s mouth over his cock and thrusting up. Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s knees, holding on to keep his balance, but Kurt opens his legs wide, upsetting Sebastian’s hands.

“Hands behind your back, preppy,” Kurt says. “No touching allowed.”

It’s difficult for Sebastian, angled like this. He can’t really kneel up comfortably with the way Kurt has a hold on his head, his back bowed, his neck bent. And if he could kneel up, he’d smack his head on the underside of the table. Sebastian’s abs tense like crazy to keep him upright. This isn’t exactly Sebastian giving Kurt a blowjob. It’s Kurt using Sebastian’s face to get off. The difference is exceedingly clear.

If anyone else tried this with Sebastian, they’d be in for a fight.

But Kurt…Kurt can do this whenever he wants.

Sebastian lets his mind go the way Kurt tried to teach him in the shower. He figures this is the perfect opportunity to practice that technique. If he can get himself to relax, he might be able to take Kurt better, overcome his body’s natural reaction to struggle. He tries to relieve himself of pride and ego, which he never imagined he’d ever want to do, and resigns himself to being an object, an outlet for Kurt’s pleasure. It doesn’t seem to matter if he sucks or not, if he moves his tongue or if his jaw goes slack. He’s simply an orifice.

“Oh, God, preppy,” Kurt moans, pushing in deep. Even as Sebastian’s mind finally begins to drift away, he gags. “Oh God fucking shit…”

Kurt cums down Sebastian’s throat, sharp and bitter, so much of it, it shoots out Sebastian’s nose and he starts choking. He considers that a success, but it doesn’t fill him with the feeling of power that giving a guy a blow and making him cum usually does. Instead, he feels satisfied, pleased with himself that he could give Kurt pleasure this way. Kurt’s cock pulses one more time against Sebastian’s tongue before Kurt pulls out abruptly, pushing Sebastian’s face away.

“Good boy,” Kurt says in a breathy exhale. “Now come on out, preppy, and finish your food.”

Sebastian snorts in, trying to clear his throat and respond. “Yes ( _cough-cough_ ), Master.” He backs out from under the table blind. His eyes sting; he can’t open them all the away. He collides with the table leg, moving the piece of furniture an inch.

“Here you go.” Sebastian feels a dish towel hit him in the face. “Wipe your eyes before you knock everything over.”

“Yes, Master.” Sebastian brings the towel to his face and blows his nose. “Thank you, Master.”

“Did you enjoy that, preppy?” Kurt laughs. It doesn’t sound mean. It sounds exhilarated. Relieved. “You enjoy me fucking your mouth over breakfast?”

Sebastian wipes his face, scrubbing semen from the insides of his nostrils and the seam of his eyelids. He’s never had this much cum on his face before.

 _That was impressive,_ Sebastian thinks. _Thank God I’m not a girl. How much good do condoms do if Kurt can cum this much?_

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, stifling another cough; difficult with Kurt’s cum lodged in his throat. “Of course, I’d enjoy you fucking me no matter what.”

Still blurry-eyed, he can’t see Kurt deliberating as they sit together in silence, Kurt’s rapid breathing slowing while his thoughts race.

“You know, you’re pretty fucking free with your opinion, preppy. I usually only let my subs answer me yes or no.”

“I’m sorry, Master” - Sebastian feigns innocence, finishing with the dish towel and setting it aside - “but I haven’t gotten to that part of the rules yet.”

Kurt huffs a laugh. “I shouldn’t let you be such a fucking smart ass.”

“Then don’t let me, Master,” Sebastian offers. “Punish me for it.”

Kurt smirks at his egotistical sub thinking he’s got the upper hand; that he’s somehow in charge because he can switch on charm faster than Kurt can switch hair colors. Kurt remembers being that way, too, about many, many things. He remembers the trouble it got him into back in high school, and back when his journey into the scene first began. “You might not enjoy me punishing you.”

“I’m here to be with you, Master,” Sebastian says, thrilled that he seems to be getting what he wants but still wondering why he’s behaving this way. He’s never gone to this extent to secure a fuck before. He could say that he’s turning the tables, seducing Kurt instead of Kurt controlling him, but he’s not that naïve. What’s happening between them is only happening because Kurt’s letting it happen. He has all the power here. Sebastian’s playing the game, but Kurt makes the rules. Sebastian has never wanted a fuck this much from anyone. And it’s not just because of Kurt’s body. There’s an aura about him, something that can’t be defined. Something that Sebastian wants Kurt to hold over him. “I’m willing to give it a try.”

Kurt’s forehead crinkles, and Sebastian sees his Dom thinking, trying to figure out what his new sub’s angle is. Sebastian isn’t adept at reading people. Not their feelings, anyway. He’s never cared too much about anyone to try. But even if he didn’t want to know more about Kurt, which he does, he can tell that this is a man who’s been hurt by someone…hurt bad. And this guarded demeanor, part of his Dominant persona, is a shield he’s using to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.

“Well, we haven’t talked yet about your limits and your boundaries. So how about I just fuck you?”

Kurt pinches Sebastian’s chin and brings him to his feet, dropping him immediately into the nearest chair. He goes to a different drawer in the cabinet, one down from the one that held the contract, and grabs two skeins of blue paracord, a condom, and a bottle of lube. Sebastian looks at the four items, then at the drawer, and wonders how much of Kurt’s BDSM supplies does he keep in the kitchen? Or are they all over, hidden in drawers around the whole house in case an impromptu session presents itself?

Kurt ties Sebastian to the chair - wrists behind him, connected to a length of rope wrapped once around his neck; hips to the seat back; and legs to the frame from his knees to his ankles. Kurt is quicker with a rope than anyone Sebastian has ever seen…or he _imagines_ Kurt is, because Sebastian doesn’t get to see too many people tie stuff up with rope. They may live in Ohio, as rural, cow-shittin’, country-bumpkin a state as it gets, but there’s not too much call for that in Westerville.

Kurt is definitely faster at rolling a condom over a man’s cock than anyone Sebastian’s ever seen, and _that_ he’s seen plenty of.

Kurt strips naked, tossing his clothes aside without a care, and climbs on to Sebastian’s lap. He doesn’t finger himself, does nothing to prepare besides lube up Sebastian’s cock. He fits his body over Sebastian and slides on down. Either he’s still fairly open or he likes the pain. Both possibilities match. But if it’s pain he feels, he masks it well.

Kurt doesn’t ease in to fucking Sebastian, he just does it, taking what he wants at the speed he wants, picking up right from where they left off. Sebastian can’t see Kurt’s cock from this angle, but he feels the hard, slick tip of it. Kurt puts his hand on Sebastian’s neck and pushes his head back a bit. He’s not cutting off Sebastian’s airway. It’s a gesture, one of ownership. He’s showing Sebastian that he owns him.

And for Sebastian, it’s one of the hottest things in the world.

Sebastian can’t move. He can’t turn his head. He can’t adjust his arms or roll his ankles. He can’t do anything but take what Kurt can dish out, and _God_ – the guy’s a machine. He grinds down in Sebastian’s lap, then he fucks and fucks and fucks…then he stops and just sits, head tilted toward the ceiling with his eyes shut, and that – him sitting in Sebastian’s lap like that – makes Sebastian burn. He wants to touch Kurt so badly. He rubs his wrists raw inside the ropes but he’s barely moving them. Fucking like this, bound this tight, Kurt becomes everything, Sebastian’s whole universe. And that’s all Sebastian wants right now, Kurt fucking him until he’s dry, until he’s sore, until he doesn’t think he can take any more, and then he does. He wants to sit there all day like this with this man using his body. He wants his body to belong to Kurt.

As far as Sebastian is concerned, it already does.

Is this what being a submissive feels like? This need to give himself over to this man? And not just in body and in obedience, but in thought and emotion? He still feels like himself. The sarcastic comments, the smart remarks, the kneejerk reactions that are far from polite, they’re still there. The attitude that he’s sure Kurt wouldn’t appreciate hasn’t been erased. It’s just been attenuated. Those other submissives down at Kurt’s club, what Sebastian saw of them, they seemed so timid, so content to be kept down, ordered around, spanked on a whim, and in some cases, physically stepped on. That doesn’t appeal to Sebastian. Shouldn’t it? Isn’t that what being a submissive means? Sure, he doesn’t mind kneeling by Kurt’s feet and letting him feed him from the table. That was kind of hot, especially since it ended in that phenomenal blowjob. But not everything is going to be like that. He ended the contract right before a section titled “domestic responsibilities”. That means cleaning and shit. And Kurt did say he expected Sebastian to cook for him. Sebastian Smythe only cooks and cleans for himself. He always planned that if he had a live-in boyfriend, they would need two separate bedrooms because no way is Sebastian dealing with someone else’s mess.

So how come he doesn’t mind the thought of doing it for Kurt?

Sebastian doesn’t feel like he’s changed, doesn’t feel like his will has been magically zapped away, but he _has_ changed. How did it happen so quickly? This…this _whatever_ it is just seemed to click. Sebastian can’t imagine feeling like this with anyone else. He never has. Whatever new part of him this is, as far as Sebastian can tell, it belongs to Kurt and only Kurt.

“Come on, preppy,” Kurt urges. “You gonna cum for me like the good puppy you are? You gonna show me how much you want me? You better take the opportunity now. It may not come along later.”

Bullet points from Kurt’s contract flash through Sebastian’s mind – chastity for one, but spanking, hooking, cuffing, marking, biting. All of these things that Sebastian doesn’t understand but agreed to experiment with, various and yet unknown ways that Kurt can torture him, bring Sebastian to the edge, but then, not let him cum? The concept should offend him. Kurt’s gall should repulse him. But it doesn’t. It’s a tremendous turn-on. Kurt’s assurance, his confidence, his complete and utter control, his belief that he can assert them over Sebastian and bend him to his will…

Sebastian’s realization that he can…

It overwhelms him, consumes him, fills him with a desperation that comes from knowing that this paradise can be denied him, this rapture building within his bound body is not guaranteed him. It makes every cell inside him feel like it’s going to explode. It collects in the pit of his stomach, and with a jolt of his hips, he does.

Kurt sails on the wave of his own euphoria, painting Sebastian’s sweaty chest with semen. He runs his fingers through the stripes of it, massaging it into Sebastian’s skin, unconcerned with whether or not Sebastian orgasmed himself. But then Kurt tilts his head and looks at Sebastian sideways, half sadistic Master, half worried lover.

“Did you cum, puppy?” Kurt asks, not removing himself from Sebastian’s cock. Sebastian feels that Kurt should know, that he should be able to feel Sebastian throbbing inside him, so there has to be another reason why he’s asking.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian replies. It seems so clinical of Kurt to ask him like that, so detached, but there’s an intimacy to it that Sebastian can’t explain.

“So, preppy,” he says, “how do you feel about everything we just did?”

“Good, Master,” Sebastian says. His throat, raw from earlier on, tickles, and he starts to cough. “But if my throat still feels like this on Monday, our next show choir rehearsal is going to suck.”

Kurt stares at Sebastian with eyes popped. “You’re…you’re a Warbler?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian chuckles, then coughs again. “I’m co-captain.”

“Well, fuck, preppy! Why didn’t you tell me you sang?” Kurt scolds, gingerly feeling around Sebastian’s throat. “I wouldn’t have fucked your throat so hard if I knew that!”

“I…I’m sorry, Master,” Sebastian says, both enjoying and perplexed by Kurt’s current amount of fussing. “It didn’t dawn on me to bring it up.”

“Well, I don’t want what we do here to ruin your future,” Kurt says, giving Sebastian a slap. That seems to be how Kurt punctuates his life lessons – with a slap across the cheek so Sebastian won’t forget. “Next time there’s something I don’t know that concerns your health or your life, you safeword and you fucking tell me!”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian replies, a sly upturn on his lips even with his cheek stinging.

“You stay there,” Kurt commands, hurrying to untie his sub. “Finish your breakfast. Meanwhile, I’m making you tea and honey for that throat.”

“Yes, Ma---” Sebastian starts, but Kurt puts a hand over his mouth.

“And you’re going to stop talking for a while,” Kurt insists, “if that’s physically possible for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. A Dalton Boy with Daddy Issues - Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, there is one more chapter to this particular story arc (Sebastian's first weekend at Kurt's house). Thank you for bearing with the time jumps. I appreciate it very much. So, in this chapter is our first glimpse of actual Blaine wank. To that end, and because I have readers who are sensitive to Blaine wank, I am going to indicate that portion of the chapter with bolded words. Stop reading when you hit the first bolded words ("The dreaded ex"), scan down and continue on when you read the next bolded words ("Are you alright, Master?"). There is also a passage at the end that I'm sure someone is going to give me grief about, so please remember to read my end notes. Also, warning for the fact that Kurt doesn't really dig on the whole Caregiver/little dynamic, and he and Sebastian privately laugh over it, but then Kurt tells Sebastian that he is not to disrespect anyone in his club over what they like. Seem ridiculous that I have to write notes as in depth as this? Well, welcome to my life.

“What do you think, preppy?” Kurt asks, slipping his hands around Sebastian’s chest. He starts massaging Sebastian’s muscles through the tight shirt, splaying his hand over Sebastian’s flat stomach, then feeling his way down to his sub’s crotch, making him hard with a few strokes.

Sebastian looks at his reflection in the mirror…and feels stupid. The shirt’s a little too tight, the shorts a little too short, and that sash – Kurt said the uniform didn’t belong to him, but whoever _did_ own it was Captain Overachiever. Every spot on the olive green strip of fabric is completely filled with round patches. Sebastian has never been a scout either, so he doesn’t know what any of them are for sure, but one looks like reading, woodworking, fishing…is that… _beekeeping_?

“So what do I call you tonight?” Sebastian asks, sidestepping his Dom’s original question, though it probably wouldn’t matter to Kurt too much if Sebastian said that he hated it, or that he felt like a phenomenal doofus in this getup. The way Kurt is manhandling him, his hands sneaking behind to cup his ass, licking his lips like he’s visualizing how he’s going to tear that uniform off Sebastian’s body with his teeth, Sebastian doesn’t think Kurt would be too insulted. “Master…or _Daddy_?”

Kurt raises a brow at Sebastian through the mirror. “You know, I’ve never been in to all that _Daddy and little_ shit, but coming from your smart mouth…” Kurt breathes in through his teeth, then wolf-whistles low. “I think I feel a change of heart comin’.” Kurt’s hands drift back to Sebastian’s crotch to check on the status of his erection. Trapped inside the snug confines of the shorts, Sebastian’s cock strains against the fly, giving a reflexive bob underneath Kurt’s hand. Kurt tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly. “You know, if you don’t learn to control _this_ …” he says, grabbing Sebastian’s crotch, “I’m going to need to get your guy a cage.” Kurt growls when he says _cage_ , that his expression growing hungry with the thought of it.

Thoughts that Sebastian can’t imagine because he has no clue what a cock cage even looks like, and the pictures he comes up with in his head are ridiculous. He thinks Kurt means a _chastity device_. That was one of Sebastian’s _maybe_ items. Kurt starts rutting lightly against Sebastian’s hip, which makes Sebastian think that cock cages are something that _really_ turns Kurt on. Sebastian had better do some Googling the next time he gets a chance.

He may have screwed himself over royally.

“I don’t think I’m a fast enough learner, Master,” Sebastian says in a stiff voice when he feels the head of his cock wedge against his waistband.

“Well, I’ll let it slide for now.” Kurt gives Sebastian’s erection a condescending pat, the way he might an adorable puppy who’s accidentally made a mess on the rug. “We’ll let your little guy get hard. But you cum, and I’m locking you up.”

“ _Little_ , Master?” Sebastian pouts. “Ouch.”

“It’s more of a nickname than an adjective, preppy,” Kurt says, going back to gratuitously groping his sub. “You’re hung and you know it. Otherwise, I might not enjoy you as much.”

***

Sebastian isn’t digging the whole _Boy Scout vibe_ , but Kurt seems to get off on it. He can’t stop touching, can’t stop running his hands over the shirt to feel Sebastian’s muscles underneath, or fondling the bulge in Sebastian’s tighter than necessary shorts. His favorite past time by far is squeezing a hand up the leg of Sebastian’s shorts while he drives to test the limits of Sebastian’s restraint.

He hasn’t gone off the road yet, but they’ve been going 103 miles per hour since they got on the highway.

The harder Sebastian gets in those shorts, and he didn’t think he could _get_ harder than he was, the more the canvas fabric feels like it’s shrinking.

Kurt told Sebastian that wearing the Boy Scout uniform didn’t make him a _little_. He’s basically only wearing it in solidarity of the theme. Identifying as a _little_ is a distinct mindset all of its own among submissives, with its own rituals, scenes, props, and little space. And just like littles, being a Daddy/Mommy/Caregiver Dominant has its own mindset. The Daddy/Mommy/Caregiver/little dynamic, Kurt explained (though not in too much depth as he was occupied feeling up his submissive), in some cases, focuses more on the _care_ aspect of being a Dominant, the nurture. Kurt made it a point to emphasize several times that he is no Caregiver. He doesn’t have the temperament nor the patience.

It can also be a fetish, Kurt mentioned, and there’s parts of that that bother him, he couldn’t lie. But he’s also a businessman. His club wouldn’t be as popular as it was if he started judging people on their fetishes. As long as the participants are legal age consenting adults aware of the things they’re doing and the risks involved, he doesn’t feel a need to police his customers. That doesn’t mean he’s not a safety hound. He has bouncers and monitoring systems, he has Dominants the he trusts who act as “big brother” when he’s not around, and he personally checks in on the back rooms from time to time to make sure that everyone is “playing safe”, but aside from that, he gives everyone their own freedom to explore.

Like tonight, for example, he warned Sebastian he would see oversized cribs, specially made playpens, and other nursery inspired paraphernalia set up for people to use as part of their scenes. Kurt and Elliott don’t normally keep those items out he said. They’re dug out for nights like tonight, and on Halloween, when Kurt and Elliott throw their annual _Freaky-Deaky Free-for-All Ball_.

Sebastian has to be impressed. It seems like Kurt…and _Elliott_ (he admits spitefully)…put a lot of thought into what goes on down at _Pavarotti’s Prison_. And to think, Sebastian originally thought it would be all spanking and fucking.

“It sounds like you go all out for something that’s not your thing, Master,” Sebastian remarks as he pulls off the highway.

“Well, believe it or not, there aren’t many places in Ohio that accommodate our _unique_ lifestyle,” Kurt says with mock sarcasm, “which is why mine is so popular. But even before Elliott and I opened the doors, we’d made the decision that we wanted our club to be a safe space for everyone. A mecca for self-expression. I mean, I know that we cater to very specific tastes, but everyone’s welcome whether they’re part of the BDSM community or not, as long as they respect other people’s space and their boundaries.” Kurt breathes in deep, the fingers fiddling with the teeth on Sebastian’s fly moving away to rest on his knee. “I want the people who come to my spot to know that…they’re not alone.” Kurt sits back in his seat. He rolls his head on the headrest and looks out the window. They’re only minutes away from Kurt’s club, but they drive those remaining minutes in silence, with Kurt’s hand on Sebastian’s knee, and that last sentence left lingering.

They arrive at _Pavarotti’s Prison_ a little after ten and see a line around the block that has both Kurt and Sebastian snickering. Kurt feels awful about laughing. He honestly does. He knows most of his loyal customers by name, and many of them are in that line. Everyone gets to have their own individual kinks, and as long as they’re not hurting anyone (without permission), they shouldn’t be shamed for them. But seeing grown men in humongous onesies and diapers, sucking on pacifiers like they’re cigars – Kurt will never understand the appeal. He panders to it because he’d gotten a ton of requests, but he usually avoids it like the plague.

Kurt knows that he can tame his giggles when he needs to and put on a straight face, but when he sees Sebastian biting his lip, eyes glued to the steering wheel to avoid losing his shit, Kurt knows he has to take a few precautions to avoid a scene.

“Park it down the block, preppy,” Kurt commands.

Sebastian puts his idling car into gear and drives down to the end of the block, out of the view of the crowd gathered outside. He stops at the corner and puts the car into park, but he doesn’t shut off the engine.

“Okay” - Kurt turns in his seat to face his sub - “now, get it out.”

Sebastian chuckles once, but when he sees Kurt’s raised eyebrow and unamused expression, he’s not sure that he isn’t walking into a trap. “Really, Master?”

“Really,” Kurt says, making a _hurry up_ motion with his hands. “Out with it.”

“I…” Sebastian turns his head to look over his shoulder at the crowd and he can’t keep it in any longer. He giggles in such a high-pitched, unmanly fashion that Kurt, trying to act as stern as he can, can’t help himself. The two of them double over in their seats so as not to be seen by anyone passing by. It seems like it’ll be a relatively short laughing fit until Kurt lets out a snort that has Sebastian in tears.

“Oh my God!” Sebastian squeals, hyperventilating. Sebastian pictures his car shaking from outside, and the looks they must be getting, and it becomes hard for him to speak. “You…you snorted! I can’t…believe…you snorted!”

“That’s…that’s…you snorted… _Master…_ to you, preppy!” Kurt chokes, and he snorts again. “Besides…you should talk. You squealed like a _pig_!”

Sebastian howls. He sucks a breath in, starving for air, his stomach straining against the waistband of his shorts, but the sound of a seam ripping makes both men pause. Sebastian’s face pops up. He sees Kurt staring directly at him, jaw dropped literally to his knees.

And then they both laugh louder.

As soon as Kurt can catch his breath, he hurries to calm down, but he has to admit, it feels good to laugh like that. He can’t remember the last time he did. He swears he has, but nothing jumps to mind, and that in itself is sad. He remembers a time when he used to laugh like that daily – bent at the waist, squinty eyed, coughing out air until he couldn’t breathe. What happened to his life that he doesn’t laugh like that anymore?

It’s too complicated a question to ponder at the moment, so he decides it’s time to get this show on the road.

“Okay, okay,” Kurt says. “Are you done?”

“I…I think so, Master.” Sebastian peeks over his car seat and back at the line. It still strikes him as hilarious, but he feels confident that he’s numb to the impulse to laugh. “Yeah” – Sebastian dries beneath his eyes with his index finger – “I’m…I’m good, Master.”

“Alright. Now, go back and park it.”

Sebastian backs his car up to its previous spot closer to the club. He puts the car in park, and kills the engine. But before he can reach across Kurt’s body to open his door, Kurt puts a hand flat to his chest and stops him.

“Okay, preppy,” he says, his voice oddly serious considering the moment of levity they were just sharing, “one more important thing.”

“Yes, Master?” Sebastian tries to strike a tone that reflects Kurt’s change in mood. Silently, he’s proud. He thinks he might be getting a hang of this – this interaction with Kurt, at least. He credits the performer in him, but this is still a level of respect he shows to almost no one.

The fact that he _wants_ to give Kurt this much respect is what makes the difference.

“I know we had our chuckles about you in this uniform,” Kurt starts, looking into Sebastian’s eyes and pointing at his chest, “and I know we sat here and had a good long laugh, but so you know, what people do in my club is for _them_. It’s not a joke, and it’s not for your amusement. Now I know being a baby or a little isn’t your scene. It’s not mine either. But you will not disrespect a single person in my club by giggling or laughing, do you understand?”

Sebastian swallows. After everything that Kurt had said, he didn’t realize he felt so strongly about this. But then, it’s not about _this_ ; it’s about his customers. A safe place. A place where they can be who they are without fear of judgement.

A place that, maybe, Kurt tried to find for himself, and when he couldn’t, he made one.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, nodding solemnly.

“I mean it, preppy” - Kurt moves his finger to the hollow of Sebastian’s throat and presses hard - “This is important to my customers. One snicker and you’re out. You read me?”

“Loud and clear, Master,” Sebastian agrees. He clears his mind, thinking the most somber thoughts he can conjure to banish any laughter in his system – even his nervous laughter – completely away.

Margaret Thatcher.

Econ class.

MRSA.

Dead kittens.

Kurt looks into Sebastian’s eyes a hair longer before the grim line of his mouth softens. He moves in on his sub, leaning over to brush their lips together gently.

“That’s my boy,” Kurt whispers, and kisses him harder.

***

Kurt grins proudly at his sub as they blow by the line and into his club without an inch of humor on Sebastian’s face. Kurt wasn’t entirely sure that Sebastian could do it. He had prepared for the possibility that his little boy would be licking the pavement for the next hour as punishment for breaking the rules, but no. Sebastian rose to the challenge - eyes down, head bowed, the expression on his face so severe that it borders on intimidating. It seemed that since Sebastian couldn’t simply stop the laughter altogether, afraid that he would crack a smile he went 180 degrees in the opposite direction and ended up with full-on scorn face. He looks more like Kurt’s sulking bodyguard than his submissive, but it would do. Kurt has to give him credit for trying.

They make their way to a table that Sebastian is beginning to believe is Kurt’s usual table when he comes to his club. Many of the same faces are gathered there that were there the first night Sebastian came, along with that one disapproving submissive, sitting at his Master’s feet. He raises an eyebrow when he sees Sebastian approach, shakes his head, and then rests his chin on his hands, making the decision early on that whatever Sebastian plans on doing, he’s not going to get involved.

Sebastian scowls inconspicuously at the man wearing only a Power Rangers t-shirt and a Pull-Up with The Avengers printed on it. He prepares to take a spot beside him when Kurt stops him with a firm hand gripping his bicep.

“Nu-uh, preppy,” Kurt says, sitting in a chair and pulling Sebastian on to his leg. “You’re with me this time.” Kurt spends a moment rearranging his submissive, sliding Sebastian’s ass a bit down his leg and leaning him back against his chest. It’s not the most comfortable position that Sebastian has ever been in, but it sure as hell beats sitting on the floor. “Now put your head back on my shoulder and relax.” Kurt creeps his hand up Sebastian’s thigh to rest on his crotch – on his flaccid cock, which lost interest at the first peek of a grown man having his diaper changed. “Don’t move, don’t clench, don’t make a sound, just…focus on keeping your body still and your mind clear. Breathe deep, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Concentrate on that, and be at peace. Do you understand? Respond if you do.”

“Yes, Master.” Sebastian tries to relax when Kurt starts to stroke hard, his erection springing enthusiastically back to life. He can’t control that, but like Kurt said, he’s fine with it as long as Sebastian doesn’t cum. Sebastian’s not sure he’ll have a choice if Kurt keeps doing what he’s doing. Sebastian tries to let go, to tap in to that part of his brain Kurt mentioned, but Sebastian has never been in a meditative state. He’s not sure he’ll be able to find it before he unintentionally breaks Kurt’s command. Kurt continues to stroke, fast and slow, hard and light, liking both Sebastian’s body’s reaction and his non-reaction - his forced control. The other Dominants around them _ooh_ and _aah_ as they watch, apparently amazed by Sebastian’s “progress”.

“Look at that!”

“Oh my goodness, Kurt. You are a miracle worker!”

“Is that your same pet from last time?”

“How did you train him up so quickly?”

“It wasn’t that difficult,” Kurt replies, giving Sebastian’s shoulder a kiss. “I think this one actually likes me.”

“I think they _all_ like you, darling.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, “but this one’s different. He’s special.”

And from inside Sebastian’s chest, inside his body where he’s trying to be oh so obedient, his heart begins to swell.

“It looks like you kind of like him, too,” the Dom with the accent from last time, who Sebastian believes is named Adam, says. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while. Unless you’re going soft on us.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” Kurt snaps, but with a laugh. “And you are all invited to shut the fuck up now.”

Sebastian’s cock throbs, balls pulling up and aching, but at some point, his mind begins to slip away. Everything else doesn’t seem to matter, isn’t as urgent as it was when this started. Even the sounds of the club become muted, the music pumping loud but at a distance away from where he sits, with Kurt’s hands touching him, teasing him, weaving in and out of his clothes, feeling like they’re threading in and out of his skin. Sebastian feels so relaxed, he could fall asleep this way, hard, denied, but entirely in Kurt’s care.

“ _God_ ,” one of the Dommes sitting at the table with them moans, “you’re _so_ lucky, Kurt.”

“Are you kidding me,” Adam says. “I think it’s his sub that’s lucky. Jesus Christ.”

Kurt starts ignoring the comments and the conversation that resumes, and turns to Sebastian. His eyes are shut, his head resting back with his neck bent, just begging to be bitten.

If there’s one thing that Kurt _loves_ it’s neck kisses – getting them and giving them.

He starts with a lick – small circles around a single freckle marking a patch of smooth skin. Sebastian’s body tenses, but he tries to relax at the same time. He breathes in through his nose, the way Kurt told him, then blows out a breath through his lips that practically depletes him entirely.

“Good boy,” Kurt murmurs, moving down an inch, blowing a soft stream of air over the abandoned wet spot before he starts in on the new one. When his lips connect and he sucks lightly, Sebastian swallows a moan, but he doesn’t shift, he doesn’t move. “Very good,” Kurt praises, this time moving his attention to the sensitive skin at the juncture above Sebastian’s shoulder. “Stay just like that, preppy, and relax.” _Kiss_. “Stay relaxed.” _Suck_. “Don’t move a muscle.” _Bite_.

Kurt opens his mouth wider and bites down. Sebastian stops breathing, and slowly, Kurt bites harder.

Sebastian hears only the foggy, distant sounds of cooing and cheering as his mind finds a peaceful corner to float in. He doesn’t think this is what Kurt meant though. He’s not entirely sure he’s not just so relaxed that he’s falling asleep.

But whatever it is, it’s nice.

Really…really nice.

“Kurt?”

Sebastian hears Kurt groan, and he wants to do the same. Sebastian has been doing a stellar job of blocking out the sounds around him. But this voice, this _one_ voice, penetrates the fog and rings around his skull. It makes him want to scream, “Why!? Why, why, why, why, _why_!?”

“Go…away,” Kurt says.

“Kurt, I need to tell you…”

“I said, go away, Ells,” Kurt says, burying his face in Sebastian’s collar so deep that Sebastian thinks he might succeed in climbing inside his shirt.

“He’s here,” Elliott says.

Kurt growls mid-suck, “Don’t play the pronoun game with me, Elliott. _Who’s_ here?” He nibbles on Sebastian’s earlobe, scratching a hand down the front of his shirt, easing buttons open along the way.

Elliott sighs. It’s not a frustrated sigh. It’s not an annoyed sigh. It’s an “I really don’t want to be the one to have to tell you this” sigh.

“You know who _he_ is, Kurt. Don’t make me have to say his name.”

That answer means nothing to Sebastian, who doesn’t understand why Elliott doesn’t just say _his_ name, but it seems to mean something to Kurt. His lips stop where they’re sucking on Sebastian’s neck, but his fingers start curling into Sebastian’s skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbles. “Up, preppy.” He smacks Sebastian sharply on the thigh, bringing him plummeting back from that fuzzy warm place he’d been floating ever since Kurt’s lips grazed his neck. “I’ve got to go take care of some business.”

“Yes, Master.” Sebastian prepares to kneel, but Kurt yanks him by the arm and drops him in his chair.

“Elliott, watch him. And while I’m gone, preppy, you’ll refer to him as _Sir_. Show him respect.”

That command blisters inside Sebastian’s brain, but he doesn’t let it show. “Yes, Master.”

Sebastian and Elliott watch Kurt head towards the door, but doesn’t leave. He stops inside the club, talking to a man who hasn’t gone past the entryway. Sebastian can’t see or hear the man Kurt is talking to; he’s not sure about Elliott. But in front of Sebastian’s eyes, Kurt changes. He hunches, like he’s folding inside himself, looking for his own place of safety because, right now, his club isn’t it. A hand reaches out to touch him, but Kurt snatches his arm away. The hand tries again, almost locking on his elbow.

_“I said fuck off, motherfucker!”_

Elliott fidgets when Kurt curses, hands curled into fists and legs bouncing restlessly, like he’s gearing up for a fight. “Come on, Kurt,” he mutters. “Stop the foreplay. Just tell him to leave.”

Sebastian looks from Kurt to Elliott’s stressed face. “Who is that?”

Elliott’s eyes lock in on Sebastian, burning hot. “Do you wanna try that again, prep school? I know Kurt has a permanent hard-on for you, but I bend the rules for no one.”

“I apologize, _Sir_ ,” Sebastian says, not enjoying the taste of that word on his tongue with regard to Elliott. “Who is that, _Sir_?”

Sebastian may have added the title, but his tone is far from what one would call respectful. Elliott looks like he’s not going to answer, but there’s another muffled argument from the doorway, and Elliott flinches in anger.

 **“The dreaded _ex_ ,”** Elliott replies. “Blaine _douchebag_ Anderson. Thinks he’s a Dom. God’s gift. Everybody in here pretty much despises him, but he hasn’t gotten the memo. But I’m sure _you two_ would get along famously. He’s one of _your_ kind.” Elliott turns a vicious glare Sebastian’s way, but then folds his hands and plasters on an overly-bright smile. “Hey, you know what would be _fantastic_? If maybe you two drive off into the sunset so _we_ can all get back on with our lives.”

Sebastian has a comeback for that, whether he’s supposed to respect Elliott or not, but he’s stuck on the man’s description of _his kind_.

“What do you mean - _one of my kind_ , Sir?”

“Oh, you know” - Elliott grimaces - “prep school trust fund trash.”

Sebastian scoffs. “Thank you, _Sir_.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Elliott returns, but he’s not looking at Sebastian. He has his lethal gaze glued to Kurt and the other man at the door. When the man tries to take Kurt’s arm, both Elliott and Sebastian sit bolt upright in their seats. Elliott starts to stand, but then sits back down. His ice blue eyes shift back and forth, trying to come up with a plan of action. Suddenly, he aims his hate-filled gaze Sebastian’s way.

“Hey, prep school? Do you want the opportunity to make me hate you a little bit less?”

“Not partic---“

“Go get him,” Elliott cuts him off, nudging Sebastian’s arm hard. “Kurt doesn’t listen to me when this prick’s around. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Sebastian stares at Elliott, and Elliott glares, but then a glance past Sebastian’s shoulder makes Elliott’s glare switch to a concern that shaves the edge off his anger.

“Go,” he says anxiously, half on, half off his chair, as if he’s ready to bolt. “He needs you. Go, go, go.”

Sebastian gets up from his seat. He turns slowly and walks towards the door. As a sub, he should walk with his eyes down, or crawl on his hands and knees, but he doesn’t, gaze locked on the men at the door. He hears Dominants jeer at him for it, submissives _ooo_ like they know Sebastian is asking for trouble, and from _Kurt_? “That takes balls,” someone whispers. But Sebastian doesn’t care. He’ll accept punishment if Kurt feels he deserves it.

If this guy bugs Elliott the way he seems to, Sebastian needs to get his Dom away from him…and _now_.

When Sebastian reaches the doorway, the man has his hand wrapped around Kurt’s wrist, pulling him in as if he intends to kiss him – or force a kiss from him. Sebastian steps up to them, the surprise of his unexpected arrival giving Kurt the chance to wrench his wrist free.

“Excuse me for interrupting, Master,” Sebastian says, finally bowing his head, wrapping his arms loosely, but protectively, around Kurt’s torso. “I’ve been sent to get you.”

“Picking them a little young, are we, Kurt?” the man at the door asks with a condescending laugh. Then his face transforms, his mouth forming into a mocking ‘o’ of surprise. “Or…oh…is this _love_?”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, but he doesn’t sound like Kurt. Not Sebastian’s Kurt. He sounds young and apprehensive…and nervous. “I think it would be best for everyone involved if you just left and didn’t come back.”

“But, baby,” Blaine says, and Sebastian didn’t think that the man could get any sleazier, “I haven’t even had a drink yet.”

Sebastian feels the tension in Kurt’s shoulders, as if something has him locked there, paralyzed. Sebastian knows that talking out of turn, especially to one of Kurt’s customers, could get him kicked out, but Elliott wouldn’t have sent him to help Kurt if Kurt was going to throw him out. Or maybe that’s an added bonus as far as Elliott is concerned, but it doesn’t matter right now.

Kurt needs him.

“I beg your pardon,” Sebastian says, standing to his full height, his eyes boring into Blaine’s skull, “but my Master told you to leave. So, I think you need to go.”

Blaine chuckles and shakes his head, obviously with no intention of going anywhere.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be scared off by a teenage boy in a _Cub Scout_ uniform,” the man with the gel helmet and the soft, pathetic smile scoffs, gesturing up and down Sebastian’s body. He laughs Sebastian off, dismissing him like he would a child.

Sebastian steps in front of his Dom, shielding Kurt with his body, a move he for sure thinks Kurt won’t allow, but fuck it. Fuck all of this. Sebastian is tired of assholes and their put-downs. Sebastian has had his fair share of those. Still does. But that’s not his sole impetus here. Without having to be told in words, Sebastian is certain that this man – this conceited hollow husk who calls himself a Dom - is the reason Kurt has that tattoo cover-up on his arm, and that makes Sebastian’s insides overflow with rage.

“First of all, it’s a _Boy Scout_ uniform,” Sebastian says, tugging at the shoulder of his sash with his thumb and forefinger. “Show some respect, and second, if the uniform’s an issue” - Sebastian leans forward, mean mugging Blaine until his superior grin dissolves into a thin-lipped, uncomfortable excuse for a smile - “I can take it off and _then_ beat your ass into the pavement. It’s your call.”

Blaine swallows hard enough for Sebastian to hear over the thumping music behind him. Blaine averts his eyes around Sebastian’s body, but Sebastian moves to keep Kurt blocked.

“Are you going to let this kid talk to me like that?” he says, trying to push past Sebastian, but Sebastian doesn’t budge. He’s more than prepared to help this man outside, with one or more broken legs if he has to.

Sebastian feels a hand on his wrist, and a subtle kiss to the back of his arm – possibly the only thank you he’ll get before he gets his shorts pulled down to his ankles and his bare ass spanked in front of everyone.

But that kiss, chaste as it is, speaks to Sebastian.

That kiss is worth all of it.

“Back down, preppy,” Kurt says, stronger, bolder, much more like Sebastian’s Dom Kurt, and Sebastian has no problem stepping aside.

“Yes, Master,” he says. He keeps an eye on Blaine, waiting for Kurt to step back in front of him before he bows his head, making it clear to anyone watching _who_ he bows for.

“Get out, Blaine,” Kurt says, a hand latched around Sebastian’s wrist behind him. “You’re not welcome here. You’re never welcome here. Get that through your thick fucking head.”

Blaine laughs in Kurt’s face. “Are you shitting me?”

“If I see you here again, I’ll call the police. This is your last warning. I’m not putting up with your crap any more. Go away, and don’t come back.”

Blaine’s disbelieving laugh, permanently affixed to his stunned face, only now starts to dip. “You can’t be serious.”

“You know” - Kurt turns his head slightly to include Sebastian in the conversation - “I wouldn’t mind watching my Boy Scout here turn you into a smear on the sidewalk. In fact, I’m almost certain it would be hotter than hell.”

Kurt’s hand around Sebastian’s wrist slides up his arm to wrap around his neck and pull him down to his mouth. Sebastian raises his eyes to look at Blaine, winking when Kurt closes in for a brief, but deep, kiss.

“Whatever,” Blaine says, rolling his eyes. “You’ll be back. You’ll be back when little boy toy here doesn’t want you anymore. You always are. But next time, I might not want you.” He points at Kurt. “Think about that.”

Blaine winks back at Sebastian. “Enjoy him while you have him, _Boy Scout_. And don’t be fooled by all of his big talk.” Blaine smiles with dark eyes and a display of white teeth. “He likes it on his knees. So you might want to consider flipping your shit.” Blaine stares at Kurt like he knows everything there is to know about him, like he owns him because of it, then turns around and leaves the club.

And Sebastian can’t remember hating anyone more.

 **“Are you alright, Master?”** Sebastian asks, uncertain whether or not he should put his arms back around Kurt. Kurt continues to stare out the door after Blaine has gone, his expression blank.

Empty.

“Master?”

Kurt doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t move his eyes away. Sebastian doesn’t want to insult his Dom, or disrespect him, but he needs Kurt to respond to him.

“Kurt,” he says quietly, so no one else but Kurt will hear.

Kurt’s head snaps up, his thoughts finally falling back to earth. He squares his shoulders and brushes his cheeks. Sebastian, at a loss for how to help, moves to block the view of other Doms and subs around, trying out of concern or curiosity to catch a glimpse of legendary badass Dom Kurt Hummel brought to tears.

“Drive me to that fancy school of yours, preppy,” Kurt says, but unlike his other commands, this one has an understood _please_ hiding within the consonants and vowels. Kurt doesn’t say _please_ because he’s not accustomed to asking people for anything, but Sebastian hears it in there.

“Sure, Master,” Sebastian says, following Kurt out the door. “Whatever you want.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here at the end we have Kurt kind of get into a situation where we see Sebastian step in to help. At the end, Kurt kind of spaces out, and we see Sebastian have to bring Kurt back down to earth. I can already hear the cries of, "Kurt's a bad Dom! He shouldn't do that to his sub! He shouldn't put that kind of responsibility on his sub to take care of him..." blah blah blah. Okay, but what you'd be missing is that Sebastian is not a dedicated submissive. Not yet. And as I have mentioned many times in notes and comments for other chapters, there are different types of submissives. Sebastian sort of identifies as a "Warrior Prince submissive". Which means that this is well within the realm of interaction for the two of them. I think what a lot of people fail to realize is that submissives are not these weak, flailing things. It takes an incredible amount of strength to be a submissive, and submissives display that strength in many ways. The man that Sebastian is, and the submissive that he is for Kurt, would definitely stand up for Kurt, and be there to comfort him, as in opposition to the book that shall not be named where "Captain of Many Colors All the Same" submits to his unwitting submissive in an act of petulance, who then feels lost because she has no clue what to do or how to handle the situation. But Sebastian wasn't lost. He wasn't distressed. This is their dynamic. If you have any more questions or concerns, you are invited to leave them politely in the comment section and I'll be happy to discuss it with you.


	9. A Dalton Boy with Daddy Issues - Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the epic showdown with Kurt, Blaine, and Sebastian at Kurt's club, Kurt asks Sebastian to take him to Dalton Academy.
> 
> ***So this is the last installment of this particular chapter. The next chapter will take place the following day. Here Kurt reveals some more of his back story to Sebastian, as well as contemplates whether or not continuing this relationship with him is the best idea. I do apologize ahead of time, there is some Blaine wank - nothing like before, but in the vein of Kurt telling Sebastian (vaguely) what happened between them. Mostly he tells Sebastian about his own life back in high school, which is sort of essential to the story. So my apologies <3

They drive away from Kurt’s club in silence, heading for Westerville. Sebastian had anticipated a lack of conversation, but he still wishes Kurt would say _something_. Sebastian doesn’t understand a lot of what happened back at the club, though really, what was there to understand? This Blaine guy is Kurt’s ex, he’s a royal douche, and Kurt is better off without him. Kurt would be better off with a dead seal than with that asshole. Everyone in Kurt’s place seems to know it. But aside from the man himself, there were things that Blaine said that Sebastian didn’t get. What did Blaine mean by Kurt running back to him? Sebastian doesn’t see that happening, but considering how agitated Elliott got, his mention that Kurt doesn’t listen to him when Blaine comes around, Sebastian has to assume that that remark has a grain of truth to it, no matter how microscopic.

And what exactly did Blaine mean when he said that despite Kurt’s big talk, he liked it on his knees? Kurt isn’t a submissive. He doesn’t seem like he has a submissive bone in his body. Sebastian gathers that Blaine thought he owned Kurt. _Still_ thinks that from the sound of it. Kurt said that about those marks on his arms – _“_ _Once upon a time, a man thought he had total control over me...”_ Maybe Blaine _wanted_ Kurt to be his submissive? Kurt said no (of course, because, in Sebastian’s mind, there’s no way) and then…what? Did Blaine try to force him? Manipulate him?

Did he rape him?

If that’s the case, then Blaine is on Sebastian’s list. He’s going to find that bastard and tear him apart, maybe ram his lacrosse stick up the jerk’s ass for good measure. Blaine can’t be too hard to find. He strikes Sebastian as the kind of man who _wants_ people to be able to find him. With the amount of product he wears in his hair, he has to leave a trail.

Maybe Elliott can help him. Sure, Elliott wants to see Sebastian packed up and on the first train out of town with his nuts ripped off and shoved down his throat, but the enemy of my enemy is my friend. That has to count for something. Sebastian _does_ realize that Google would probably be the quickest and easiest route to take, but he has to do _something_ to get on Elliott’s good side. Serving up the head of Blaine Anderson might be just the thing.

Dalton Academy isn’t too far from Kurt’s club, so Sebastian considers taking a longer route to give Kurt time to think, but while Sebastian ponders his many unanswered questions about Blaine, he drives the whole way on auto-pilot. They pull on to the Dalton campus before Sebastian has time to reconsider, and since they’re already there, he pulls into a spot outside of the lacrosse field. His assigned parking spot sits directly outside the dorms. That’s too exposed for Sebastian’s taste.

Too many opportunities for some asshole to peek out the windows and see them. Not that Sebastian cares who sees them. He just doesn’t want to be interrupted.

“Here we are, Master,” Sebastian says, cutting the engine. He sinks back in his seat and looks at Kurt, head tilted to the right, staring out the window the entire drive. “Did you want to get out? Take a look around?”

Kurt’s eyes don’t shift, his head doesn’t turn. Sebastian can’t help feeling that something in the dark of the Dalton campus has captured Kurt’s attention. From where they’re parked, they can see the lacrosse field, two of the main buildings, and the dorm. Sebastian doesn’t have a clue which one Kurt might be looking at. “Are you plannin’ on staying in the car, preppy?”

“Did you want me to, Master?”

This time, Kurt looks at Sebastian, but by way of the tinted glass. “No,” he replies, “it’s just…I mean, look at what you’re wearing.” A grin sneaks onto Kurt’s face. Sebastian smirks, but Kurt’s smile disappears as quickly as it comes. “We didn’t bring you a change of clothes. I remember what high school was like. I don’t want to kill your rep.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone really up at this hour, Master,” Sebastian says. “And besides, I don’t particularly give a shit if anyone sees me.”

Kurt huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Is that an act?” he asks so suddenly, so forcefully, Sebastian flinches. It sounds like an accusation, not a question, and Sebastian doesn’t know if answering will make Kurt angry. Admittedly, Sebastian doesn’t understand much about Dom/sub relationships, but the one thing he keeps overhearing is that communication between Dom and sub is important. It seems to be the foundation. If Sebastian can’t talk to Kurt on the level in a situation like this, in what Sebastian has heard termed the “vanilla” world (at least, he thinks that word would apply here), their relationship will never work.

And Sebastian wants it to work.

“Is _what_ an act, Master?”

“The bravado. Is it for my benefit, or are you really hot shit around here?”

“You _did_ say you thought I had a harem of boys jizzing all over themselves to do whatever I wanted, didn’t you, Master?” That comment brings the smile back to Kurt’s face – a snarky, oddly proud smile. Sebastian wants to reach out and touch Kurt, put a hand on his hip, create a point of contact. He feels an odd disconnect between them, the way he assumes he would if Kurt was a teacher that Sebastian happened to get naked with. And maybe that’s how this is supposed to feel. Kurt is the professor in this universe that Sebastian has landed in, which makes Sebastian the pupil. It’s going to be a difficult dynamic to get used to, especially during moments like this that feel intimate but not really, when all Sebastian wants to do is offer Kurt comfort, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. “Well, you’re not that far from the truth. And besides, to restate an earlier comment, I don’t give a shit if anyone sees me.”

“You’ve got some balls, preppy. I’ll give you that.”

Sebastian leans forward till his chin brushes Kurt’s shoulder, and says in the most suggestive voice he can devise, “You should know, Master.”

That gets Kurt laughing, and Sebastian marks it a victory.

“All right, well, let’s get a move on.” Kurt unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door. “Don’t really feel like being here all night. Too many memories…”

Sebastian climbs out of the car, watching Kurt as he heads for the lacrosse field. Too many memories? Of what? Has Kurt been here before? He has to have been. If all that talk from Elliott about Sebastian and Blaine being the same caliber of person is anything to go by, Kurt has probably been to Dalton a number of times.

Oh, God! Were any of the professors at Dalton Kurt’s clients? Like Professor Stevenson, the A. P. Physics teacher. Sebastian can definitely picture him in a leather harness and ass-less chaps with a ball gag in his mouth…a little too easily, as a matter of fact, so Sebastian moves on. Or Mr. Carlyle, the freshman Phys Ed teacher. There was always something a little off about him. He’s a little too quiet for a P. E. teacher, too withdrawn, with a suspicious obsession with the suspension trainer.

But no. Blaine has something to do with Kurt’s memories of Dalton, and as far as Sebastian can remember, he hadn’t heard the name Blaine Anderson before he met Kurt.

Or…wait a minute…

Had he?

Then Sebastian stumbles on a thought that hadn’t dawned on him before, but really should have smacked him in the face. Back in Kurt’s kitchen, when Kurt got upset at Sebastian for not telling him he sang, Kurt asked him if he was a Warbler. How did Kurt know about the Warblers unless…

“You know, usually when you go back to the haunts of your childhood, they seem so much smaller than you remember them,” Kurt says, cutting a path through the grass. “But not Dalton. Nope. Dalton never disappoints.”

“So, you went to Dalton, Master?” Sebastian asks, but at this point he’s certain the answer is _yes_.

“Yup, when I was a junior, but only for about half a year. I went back to public school after that. Swore to myself I’d never come back here.”

“Why is that?”

“I kind of blame Dalton Academy for lying to me.”

Sebastian inclines his head at Kurt’s back as he tromps toward the bleachers. “How did it lie to you?”

“My father had me transferred here because I was being bullied in public school. A homophobic jock threatened to kill me, but apparently he had a crush on me.”

“Wow…”

“Yeah. But I came here because…” Sebastian sees Kurt’s shoulders jerk, laughing to himself. “Well to be honest, I came here, in part, because of Blaine.” Kurt looks over his shoulder at Sebastian. “Believe it or not, he was a lot more charming back then than he is now.”

“Sounds fake, but okay, Master,” Sebastian half mumbles, but Kurt hears him and winks.

“I was in a rival show choir,” Kurt continues, not slowing his stride, determined to make it to the bleachers as if they’re running behind on some arbitrary time limit. “We were called…” Kurt raises his hands, blocking off a portion of the sky to simulate a marquee with a name written in lights “…The New Directions.” He says it dramatically, then laughs, as ridiculous to him as it sounds to Sebastian. “I was sent here to spy on The Warblers. You know, scope out the competition, see what we were up against. But I wasn’t a very good spy. The Warblers knew me – _Blaine_ knew me - from the moment I walked through the door. They knew I didn’t belong here.” Kurt reaches the bleachers and climbs up a few steps, but doesn’t sit. “He and a few of his friends invited me for coffee. I thought for sure these three rich boys in blazers were going to beat me up. We got to talking, and I told them what was going on with the jock and the bullying, how no one seemed to notice, or care...” When Sebastian reaches the bleachers, Kurt motions for him to sit on the lowest bench at his feet. Sebastian obeys, but Kurt remains standing. “Blaine told me that Dalton had a zero tolerance policy against bullying. Plus, the show choir here is actually cool, whereas at my school, we were treated more like wooden ducks that the rest of the student body used for target practice.” Kurt’s eyes scan the field, like he’s searching for something, but he doesn’t look at Sebastian. “I thought this school was the answer to my prayers. I remember the day I transferred, sitting in the Dean’s office, listening to him tell me how coming here was going to change my life. Dalton promised to protect me. It promised to keep me safe. It promised to help me succeed. And since Blaine was here, I thought I might actually…” Kurt blows out a breath, rethinking the end of that sentence. “The Dean was right. Going to Dalton changed my life, but not entirely in a good way.”

“May I ask what happened, Master?” Sebastian leaves his question purposefully vague. There’s just so much that he doesn’t know or understand. Fuck, he’s only known Kurt a few days. They’ve spent most of that time naked and fucking. But this is more intimate than fucking. This is Kurt vulnerable; this is the difficult stuff.

The stuff that Sebastian usually doesn’t care enough to get to know about the guys he sleeps with…except for his first real boyfriend, Jamie. But Jamie is pretty much the reason why Sebastian stopped caring altogether.

But Sebastian cares about what happened to Kurt.

Yes, Sebastian wants to know what Blaine did, but really, he wants to know everything that happened, from the beginning, at the public high school Kurt went to, thru his time at Dalton, and ending with tonight.

“I…” Kurt struggles with what he wants to say next. Sebastian waits, eager for the story to unfold. Kurt’s eyes unfocus, staring towards the dorm – at one particular window, Sebastian realizes. But Kurt shakes his head. “I would really rather not get into it right now.” He fishes out a pack of cloves from his pocket and takes a seat. “I’m sorry, it’s just…they say high school is supposed to be one of the best times of your life, but anyone who says that has never _been_ to high school. I wasn’t the person I am now back then, preppy. I didn’t act the same, didn’t talk the same, I sure as hell didn’t look the same. I spent so much time fighting just to be me, running to places I thought would keep me safe, latching on to people I thought would understand me. And when I found them, I thought they were so genuine and true that I held on to them tight. But for every one person who was a real friend, there were so many people, preppy, always so many people who wanted to tie me up in chains. Blaine was the biggest one of those. But keeping me locked up, that wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to…spread the love around, so to speak. Show it off. Show off what he’d made.” Kurt sighs, fiddling with the pack of cigarettes, smacking it against his palm repeatedly, making a rhythm out of the dull slap, but not taking one out. “You know, in my world, the one I live in now, everyone runs their relationship, defines their dynamic, their own way. One thing doesn’t work for everyone, so they bend, compromise, and power to the people who can make it work. But that’s why I prefer what I do. I don’t have to invest my time in any one person…” Kurt looks at Sebastian. He grabs a handful of his sub’s hair and tugs it fondly “…usually. Some Dominants like to tout their superiority over others, and treat their submissives solely like objects. Mindless playthings. Some make their relationship one of equals. That’s what I wanted. I wanted us to be equals. But Blaine, he needed to be in charge, in everything. He needed to be the captain, the soloist, the leading man. He needed to be my one and only, take the place of every other friend I had. I didn’t want it, but I gave it a shot for him, even though that was never who I was. But, as it turned out, he didn’t want me for me. He wanted me for who he could make me.” Kurt looks from Sebastian’s eyes to the sky above. There are some things that are just too hard to admit to someone’s face. “I want to be over him so bad, preppy. It’s been fucking long enough, Goddammit. But I guess…every time I think I am, he shows the fuck back up, I turn 16 all over again. And he’s the captain of the Warblers.”

Sebastian swallows, so hard he almost swallows what he’s about to say. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about, preppy,” Kurt says, dismissing his past and his relationship with Blaine as if parts of his life didn’t revolve around it. As if he hadn’t built his hopes on it. “Like I said, the stupidity was mine, and the sins were someone else’s.”

“But, still…” Sebastian presses because he doesn’t think that Kurt really hears him. If that disregard is a side effect of Sebastian’s being a sub, or of Kurt just not seeing what he should be seeing, Sebastian doesn’t know, but he’s going to make him see if he can. “You don’t deserve that.”

Kurt’s head jerks as if he’s stifling a laugh, but there’s no humor on his face. Sebastian sees that being a default reaction. Kurt doesn’t strike Sebastian as the kind of person who takes compliments, or sympathy, very well. “And what do you think I deserve?”

“Whatever you want, Master,” Sebastian says. “Whatever you want out of life, you should have it.”

Kurt smirks at his obedient boy, dressed in a Boy Scout uniform that’s way too small, but he’s still here, isn’t he? He’s still with Kurt, waiting for Kurt to tell him what to do. Of course, this is there first weekend together, and Sebastian far from knows what all of this lifestyle entails, but the one thing that Kurt doesn’t see when he looks in Sebastian’s eyes that he has seen from other submissives at this point is trepidation. Fear. Sebastian has none of that.

Kurt wonders how deep that goes. What would it take to put fear in Sebastian’s eyes? That’s one challenge that Kurt would love to take on.

But he’s not going to find out tonight.

“So, you think that I should have what I want, huh?”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, realizing that he’s almost begging to get his point across. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you to suck me off, preppy. Can you do that for me?” Kurt could have made it a command. Sebastian would have obeyed. The fact that it came out a request breaks Sebastian’s heart. But Sebastian nods, dropping to his knees on the cold, ribbed metal between Kurt’s legs. Sebastian undoes the buttons to Kurt’s fly while Kurt opens his pack of cloves and plucks out a single cigarette and his lighter. He brings the clove to his lips and lights it as Sebastian frees his cock from his jeans and sinks his mouth over it. Kurt blows a thin stream of smoke from between his lips.

“You’re a good boy, preppy,” Kurt says, fingers twirling Sebastian’s hair, urging him down farther every other bob, letting this private rapture carry him away from this place he swore he’d never come back to.

 _One_ of the places. Unfortunately, Kurt has a list.

“You’re…you’re such a…good boy…preppy…just… _mmm_ …a good boy…”

This time, Kurt lets Sebastian lead, sucking and swallowing at his own speed without any thrusting up. Kurt reclines against the hard edge of the bench behind him, propping his left leg up to give Sebastian room. With his eyes skyward, Kurt pulls off the end of his cigarette and thoughtfully puffs smoke rings into the air. He doesn’t moan, doesn’t grunt, just quietly hums, recalling how many times he’s done this late at night – not here, but at McKinley. He and Blaine didn’t get all that physical here, but at McKinley after hours, the two of them went at it like rabbits. On the bleachers, under the bleachers, in the locker room, in the choir room, and more times in Kurt’s SUV in the parking lot than he can count. But it wasn’t like this – relaxed and slow and solely for relaxation. Everything they did back when Kurt was a teenager was urgent and theatrical, jagged peaks and steep declines, like a rollercoaster, so extraordinarily intense he thought his heart would explode.

But this is soothing, meditative.

And again, dangerous. _This_ Kurt could lose himself to – this boy and his mouth, his heat and his wet, his hooded dark eyes when he listens to Kurt talk, that snarky little smile when he gets what he wants.

Kurt had that once, fell in love with it once, and losing it just about broke him.

Kurt knows that if he takes what Sebastian is offering, he’s going to lose it again. It’s inevitable, a fact. If he jumped online and looked at the Dalton school calendar, he could even put a date to it, an exact time of departure.

Does he really need to put himself through that again?

Like in the shower at Kurt’s house, Kurt doesn’t make a show of orgasming. Control seems important to him - control over himself and over others, and Sebastian is beginning to understand better. The theme of Kurt’s life seems to have been people trying to assert control over him – bullies, boyfriends, and just plain _life_ , with Kurt fighting at each juncture to take it back.

Now, to Sebastian, Kurt’s lifestyle makes sense.

Sebastian barely knows that Kurt is about to cum other than Kurt’s fingers curling in his hair and his actual statement, “I’m cumming, preppy,” followed by the hot spurt of cum that floods Sebastian’s mouth. It’s not as monumental as it had been when Sebastian blew Kurt under his kitchen table, but it’s still enough for Sebastian to struggle with. Sebastian tries to swallow, but he hiccups in the middle and ends up gagging with a grotesque rough horking noise that makes Kurt crack up.

“Okay, preppy. That’s enough,” he says, clapping Sebastian hard on the back. “I don’t need you suffocating. Don’t want to have to tell the school nurse why we’re waking her up at this hour.”

“Good…call…Master…” Sebastian chokes around a laugh, hacking up thick strings of white-tinged saliva through the bleacher slats to the wet grass below. “Would you…” Sebastian’s throat tightens. He breathes in through his nose, and coughs out through his mouth one last time, almost upending his stomach. “Would you…like me to take you back home now, Master?”

Kurt thinks it over as Sebastian finishes clearing his lungs. He crushes out his cigarette on the metal bench, leaving a satisfying burn. “You know, you don’t have to come back with me if you don’t want to. I mean, we’re not that far from Columbus. You’re the one who drove up. You can stay here. I’ll call a cab…” Kurt stands. Sebastian takes Kurt’s hand. He kneels on the metal bench at Kurt’s feet. He doesn’t look up, but rests Kurt’s hand on his head. He doesn’t know where this is coming from. He doesn’t know whether he saw it at the club or not. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or if this gesture is acceptable. All he knows is that it feels right in this moment, and he hopes that, for whatever it’s worth, Kurt will accept it.

“Can I drive you home now, Master?” Sebastian repeats, gazing down at Kurt’s feet. “Because, if I get to make this decision, I would really rather return with you, if you don’t mind.”

Kurt deliberates. He’s beginning to feel that the best thing for both of them would be to stop this now before it gets out of hand. Contrary to what Elliott believes, Kurt _has_ been listening to him, has read every one of his lengthy text messages, taken every word he’s said in opposition to this relationship to heart.

Elliott is Kurt’s best friend. It’s hard not to listen when the man speaks, not that Elliott would ever let himself be ignored.

And Blaine’s an asshole, but some of what he said made sense enough to stick. Sebastian is an intelligent, handsome, _young_ man with his entire life ahead of him. Getting attached to him, especially during his senior year of high school, is just an express elevator to hurt feelings. Even if Sebastian gets attached just as much, which it seems obvious he’s well on his way to doing, it’ll be on Kurt to force him away. Kurt can already tell from the reeling of his heart as he watches this boy kneel that that’s not going to be an easy feat. If Kurt was half as smart as he thinks he is, he would turn Sebastian down, cut ties here, send him to his dorm room and tell him that this is over, to never show up at his club or his house again.

But Kurt never was good at listening to the parts of his brain that made any sense.

“Sure, preppy.” Kurt grabs a handful of Sebastian’s hair and tugs him to his feet, rolling his eyes at the smirk on Sebastian’s face – the one that couldn’t look humble if his life were at stake. Well, maybe now his ass will be. “Take me home.”

 

 

 

 


	10. A Dalton Boy with a Necktie Fetish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for tumblr user therewasagirlwhowantedtofly prompted a one-shot with breathplay. I felt that it fit well in my Dalton Boy series. So, this puts the story a little out of order, but I hope you guys enjoy it. Warning for bondage, breathplay, age gap, sort of underage drinking, anal sex, and destruction of a Dalton uniform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: please do not try this at home! This type of breathplay, or any form of erotic asphyxiation, carries with it the risk of causing serious damage if not done correctly. Even information found on the Internet from sources that many people consider reputable are neither entirely accurate nor safe, so please please please find alternative ways to play. Choking, especially using implements of any kind like belts, scarves, ties, etc. is not promoted by this author. This is a work of fiction, so simply enjoy it :)

Sebastian watches Kurt wrap his lips around the mouth of the sea green bottle in his grasp, the glowing liquid flowing into his mouth. A tiny river of it escapes the seal of his lips and runs down the side of his face, curling around his chin and dripping down his neck.

Sebastian runs his tongue over his dry lips, longing to lick those drips up.

Kurt releases the bottle and sighs, wiping up the runaway liquid with the back of his hand. Sebastian sees his opportunity disappear, and deflates into the seat beneath him.

“I…I can’t believe you’re torturing me like this, Master,” Sebastian says, his voice shaking when Kurt fixes him with shining, slightly inebriated eyes. He responds to Sebastian’s complaining by pouring a stream of the cool liquid down Sebastian’s bare chest, then licking it up with the flat of his tongue.

A half an hour after they arrived at Kurt’s club, done the obligatory rounds with the other Dominants and said hello to a bitter Elliott, Kurt locked them in his office, forced Sebastian into the high-backed Victorian style wing chair at his desk, and cuffed his wrists behind his back. Kurt tore Sebastian’s uniform shirt open, popping every last button, then pulled it wide to leave his chest bare. (This shirt is Kurt’s fifth victim this month. Fortunately, Sebastian had preemptively ordered three dozen more. Far be it for him to say no to his Dom, even if it means destroying every last uniform he has in his closet.) Kurt left Sebastian’s necktie on, turning it around on his neck so that the tail of it draped over Sebastian’s shoulder.

Even though they’re in Kurt’s club, this isn’t the same as their other  _sessions_. This is just for the two of them, but on a different level. For as strict a Dom as Kurt usually is, right now he is being uncharacteristically lenient.

It’s almost like their version of a  _normal_  date, with the clear understanding that Kurt is entirely in charge.

Kurt had stripped off his shirt for Sebastian, let his sub watch with hungry eyes as he exposed his toned chest and his glorious tattoos. He perched on Sebastian’s lap, opened the bottle of absinthe, and proceeded to drink down every last drop.

“Can’t I have a sip, Master?” Sebastian begs in a very un- _Sebastian Smythe_  manner. “Please?”

“You know the rules about minors drinking in my club,” Kurt scolds, raising the bottle to his lips with a wicked grin. Of course, if Kurt were actually a stickler for the rules, Sebastian wouldn’t be in his club to begin with. “Can’t do it.” Kurt chuckles darkly. “It’s a shame, too, because Elliott only buys the good stuff.” Kurt takes a long pull off the bottle as Sebastian stares at the smooth line of his neck while he drinks, watching his muscles work the liquid down his throat, knowing that that must be what it looks like when Kurt sucks down _other_ things. “I think it’s banned in fourteen countries.” Kurt takes another long swig. He leans back too far and teeters on Sebastian’s lap, giggling when he re-balances himself.

“Wow,” he says, rolling his head on his neck, “I think I’m just about flying.”

“Well, I wish I was flying with you, Master,” Sebastian pouts. He watches his Dom drink, eyes brimming with jealousy. Kurt cares little about Sebastian’s jealousy. Such is the way of teenage boys. It’s the nature of the beast. It’s Sebastian’s _need_ that Kurt craves. That need is always there when Sebastian trains his sinful green eyes on Kurt.

For a boy who never thought he would willingly “belong” to anyone, Sebastian sure does enjoy being owned. Sebastian’s need for Kurt is raw and exciting, and it feeds Kurt’s ego to no end. Kurt chews on this thought as he looks at his sub beneath him, eager to play with his willing and bound boy toy.

“I can think of a way to get you flying,” Kurt says, leaning over and setting the bottle on the floor. He scoots off of Sebastian’s lap and stands before him. He starts pulling off his boots, taking his time to strip for his sub. “Do you trust me, preppy?”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says without a second’s hesitation. His answer makes the grin on Kurt’s face grow wide. “More than I probably should.”

Kurt laughs, unzipping his jeans and peeling them down his legs.

“You don’t believe that,” Kurt counters, “or else you wouldn’t be here.”

Sebastian smiles. “You’re right, Master. If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

Kurt doesn’t seem to mind stripping naked anywhere – not that he has any reason to be self-conscious. Kurt has an incredible body and he knows it. And he knows that Sebastian likes to look at him. It’s especially delicious to feel Sebastian’s eyes on his skin when Sebastian is tied up - when he can’t quench his desire for the touch of his fingertips sliding over Kurt’s smooth skin, tracing his tattoos, toying with his nipples, or threading through the violet locks in his hair.

Sebastian wants Kurt – every second they’re together and pretty much every minute that they’re apart. He wants Kurt’s body. He needs Kurt’s dominance. He doesn’t know why, and if he thinks about it too hard, sometimes it infuriates him.

So Sebastian doesn’t think about it at all. He simply submits whenever Kurt lays eyes on him.

Kurt is more than ready for him, his cock incredibly hard and flushed, aching where it stands between Kurt’s muscular legs.

“Now this is what we’re going to do, preppy,” Kurt says, bending over his sub and working at the zipper and button to Sebastian’s uniform pants. “I’m going to sit in your lap and have my way with you, and we’re going to have a little fun with that kinky necktie of yours.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows shoot straight up as Kurt frees his cock from his pants, not moving him an inch to pull his slacks down because (as Kurt has said many times before) sometimes Sebastian’s cock is the only part he needs.

“You know, all you prep school boys are bred to be subs,” Kurt continues without any further explanation, “with these uptight uniforms and your stringent school schedules, all of you jumping like obedient dogs at the sound of a bell…”

Kurt climbs nimbly into Sebastian’s lap, reaching behind his sub to his desk for a condom and a bottle of lube.

“I like my doggy,” Kurt says with a giddy laugh, freeing the condom from its gold packet and swiftly rolling it over Sebastian’s cock. “So obedient, so ready for me…” He tosses the empty square into the trash and flips open the bottle. Sebastian watches Kurt squeeze a generous dollop of lube into his palm before flipping the lid shut and tossing the bottle carelessly back on his desk. Kurt warms the lube between his hands before slathering it over the length of Sebastian’s erection. Sebastian fights the urge to move his hips up to meet his Dom’s hands, sure that Kurt will put a full stop to whatever he has planned if he does.

Kurt loves to introduce new ways of torturing Sebastian, and Sebastian has started to love Kurt’s surprises.

Kurt positions himself above Sebastian’s cock, lowering himself down with a teasing shimmy while he explains his plan.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Kurt says in that no-nonsense Dom tone that makes Sebastian’s toes curl – the one that leaves no room for argument, “and while I do, I’m going to cut off your air supply bit…by…bit.” Kurt curls a finger around the tail of Sebastian’s tie, pulling it back over his shoulder and straightening it over his bare chest.

Sebastian swallows hard.

“Master?” he asks, recognizing the switch from playful torment to domination in the tone of Kurt’s voice and adjusting accordingly.

“Yes, preppy?” Kurt leans in close, nibbling along the contours of Sebastian’s mouth.

“Don’t people…die from doing that?”

Kurt sits back abruptly and scowls. “Yeah, if you’re an idiot doing it alone and you accidentally hang yourself in your closet with your belt or some shit.” Suddenly, Kurt’s eyes flare with an anger Sebastian did not expect. “Which is why you never, _ever_ do this alone.” Kurt jabs his finger into Sebastian’s chest hard enough to make him flinch. “Not while you’re jerking off, not without me. I forbid it. Do you understand?”

Kurt’s conviction steals every word from Sebastian’s lips, so he nods.

“Say it,” Kurt commands, digging his nails into the skin of Sebastian’s chest to make himself understood. “Tell me that you understand. I need to hear you say it, preppy.”

“I understand, Master,” Sebastian says, keeping his voice calm even with the pain of Kurt’s nails burrowing into his skin to contend with.

Kurt sinks his body completely over Sebastian’s cock and sighs, retracting his nails and fiddling with Sebastian’s tie again.

“Good,” Kurt says, returning to his mask of control. “I’m glad we understand each other.” Kurt tightens the Windsor knot on Sebastian’s tie, inching it up to his neck, underneath his Adam’s apple. “We’re going to go slow” - Kurt slides his tongue across Sebastian’s lips - “and I’ll ask you how you’re holding up along the way. But if you need me to stop…” He reaches behind Sebastian and grabs something off his desk. When he sits back upright, he presses a small, round device into Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian manipulates it blindly with his fingers. It’s a smooth disk, the center of which has a button that Sebastian can feel with his thumb. Sebastian looks into Kurt’s eyes and raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Give it a go,” Kurt says, motioning with his chin over Sebastian’s shoulder.

Sebastian finds the button with his thumb and gives it a tentative press. He doesn’t have to press hard to make the disk buzz loudly.

“Shit!” he exclaims. Kurt throws his head back and laughs at Sebastian’s jolt of surprise.

“I think that’ll get my attention,” Kurt says, returning to the kiss he had abandoned seconds before. “Don’t you?”

Sebastian nods as Kurt’s lips meet his. In this position, Sebastian can feel all of Kurt pressed against him – the warm skin of his chest against his own, Kurt’s ass resting on his thighs, and his leaking cock rubbing against his stomach. Sebastian happily surrenders to Kurt. He can’t move his hands or his wrists, can barely move his body pinned beneath Kurt’s weight, but he is more than willing to acquiesce to sex for the rest of his life just this way as long as it’s with his Dom.

As long as it’s with _Kurt_.

Oh yeah, this man owns him, and Sebastian can’t find a single reason in the world to mind.

Kurt pushes the knot of Sebastian’s tie up, tightening it at the base of his neck until Sebastian gasps. Kurt can feel Sebastian’s throat brace against the push of the knot trying to constrict his airway, so Kurt doesn’t force it.

“Relax, preppy,” Kurt whispers in Sebastian’s ear. “Give in, and it’ll feel really good.”

Sebastian relaxes as best he can into the chair, trying to will the tension in his muscles to fade. Kurt pushes harder. A small thread of panic rises up within Sebastian, but then Kurt’s body begins to move, and any anxiety Sebastian has over the idea of being choked dissolves beneath the snap of Kurt’s hips.

The tie tightens. Sebastian feels everything change as it becomes harder to breath – the blind, dazzling euphoria of being disconnected from his body. Lights flash behind his eyes as his vision darkens, and the beautiful face of his Dom is replaced with a sea of floating stars.

“Okay,” Kurt says, slowing the movement of his hips while carefully releasing the knot pressed against Sebastian’s neck. Air starts to move into Sebastian’s lungs again and his vision clears, but his head still throbs and spins. He whimpers as his body crashes back to earth. “Are you still with me, preppy?”

“Yes,” Sebastian replies in a rough voice.

“Do you want me to do that again?” Kurt asks, a laugh shadowing his question.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says.

Kurt captures Sebastian’s mouth in a kiss that’s soft as he slides their lips together, and raw in the way that Kurt bites down on Sebastian’s flesh. They start out as gentle nibbles, but soon Kurt bites down like he means to devour Sebastian…and he just might. Not with his teeth, but with his whole body. He moves again, up and down, up and down, with no break in between for Sebastian to catch his breath – not that he can now that Kurt is tightening the tie again, pushing the knot further until he can hear Sebastian whine, feel his legs shake.

The euphoria returns along with faster spinning, and the lights that explode like fireworks the longer Kurt forces him to hold his breathe. The knot slips. Sebastian inhales a single breath, and the entire world shifts, tilting left and right. It feels like falling from a tremendous height with no fear of dying. He would laugh if he could, but that’s trapped, too, inside his throat.

“Okay,” Kurt says again, slowing his hips and releasing the knot, not as much as before, but enough for Sebastian to catch a small breath so he doesn’t pass out. “You still haven’t pressed the magic button,” Kurt points out, sneaking his finger between Sebastian’s neck and his tie, keeping the pressure on. “Are we good to keep going? I can feel your body telling me you want to cum. Is that true, preppy? Do you want to cum?”

Sebastian’s head lolls back and forth. He giggles, the sound slightly manic as it pierces the fog of his hearing, partially obscured by the blood rushing in his ears.

Kurt laughs along with him, watching his sub wallow in his loopy haze.

“Is that a yes, preppy?” Kurt cups Sebastian’s chin in his hand, trying to gain back his sub’s attention.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, peering up to where Kurt’s face has gone double, both images of him trying to snap back together into a single picture. “Yes, I want to cum.”

“Alright, preppy,” Kurt says with another chuckle. “Do you have your button?”

Sebastian presses the button. The sharp sound claps inside the room. Sebastian dissolves into a fit of giggles when Kurt jumps.

“Yup,” Sebastian says, popping the  _p_.

Kurt shakes his head, but he’s dying to see Sebastian cum beneath him, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, gasping for air in that way that Kurt knows will make his orgasm feel incredible when it hits.

Kurt is less gentle this time, pushing the knot up to Sebastian’s neck and putting more pressure behind it. He moves his hips faster, slamming his ass down on Sebastian’s thighs harder. Sebastian arches his back and his eyelids flutter shut, his face turning red with an effort to breathe as Kurt fucks him.

But the smile on his face is undeniable.

He feels Kurt everywhere. Everywhere Kurt touches connects inside his body. His ass is wonderfully tight around Sebastian’s cock, and his fingertips brushing Sebastian’s neck send sparks sizzling over his skin. He feels his mind disintegrate. Every thought becomes irrational, unimportant nonsense; words - unintelligible background noise. His mind separates from reality. He feels weightless, like mist, floating above his body, heading straight into a shimmering white ball of light.

“Yes,” he can hear Kurt moan. “God, yes, preppy…that’s it.”

Sebastian bucks his hips beneath Kurt’s body, thrusting up into that all-encompassing heat that Kurt possesses. He can’t feel himself moving. His muscles are pliant, rubbery, apparently with a mind of their own because Sebastian’s brain has stopped working. All he has left is the animalistic feeling that he’s about to cum deep inside his Dom’s body, embarrassingly hard.

He might even pass out.

And that’s okay. Everything is okay. Everything around Sebastian is warm fuzzies and fluffy, pillowy clouds. Even the orgasm building inside him is soft around the edges as it starts to swallow him whole.

“Oh, preppy,” Sebastian hears Kurt mutter, the words sliding through his ears, barely reaching his brain, but reverberating inside his skull. “Oh, God…”

Another, different warmth erupts over his chest. It’s slick and wet, covering his skin in stripes, even reaching his chin. His senses fire, random areas of his skin exploding, his entire being shooting out of his body in all directions. Sebastian groans out loud. It’s a strained, guttural noise, but as the tension around his neck releases, the groan becomes a gasp.

“There we go, preppy,” Kurt coos, running his fingers through Sebastian’s hair as he loosens the necktie. “Breathe in slowly. Don’t force it.”

Sebastian starts to swallow, trying to gulp in air, but the slowly loosening necktie won’t let him. His body seems to know what it’s doing, and breathes in on its own, following the rhythm set by his Dom as Kurt slides the knot of the tie away from his neck.

“That’s a good boy,” Kurt says, reaching on his desk for a box of tissues and cleaning Sebastian’s chest, except for one drop of cum that Kurt collects on his finger and slides between Sebastian’s lips.

It’s an occasion when Kurt will do that for Sebastian, and Sebastian savors it.

“How was that?” Kurt asks, planting bites and kisses down the side of Sebastian’s neck.

“That was…” Sebastian pants, trying to find the right words in the thick hazy soup that are his thoughts at present, “ _incredible_.”

It’s banal, but it’ll do.

“I’m glad you thought so,” Kurt says.

Sebastian grins wide as his vision clears. He can see his Dom gazing down at him with a smug, satisfied smirk on his face.

“But, I still would have liked a sip from your bottle, Master,” Sebastian says with a wink.

Kurt sits straight up and slaps Sebastian, snapping Sebastian’s face to the side. The slap isn’t hard - just hard enough that Sebastian knows Kurt doesn’t appreciate his sense of humor. Sebastian bites back a smile when Kurt pulls his face back to look at him. Kurt sees how hard Sebastian struggles to maintain his straight, obedient face, and as much as he wants to be angry, as much as he wants to discipline Sebastian for his comment, he laughs instead.

“You’re a cheeky asshole, preppy,” Kurt says, leaning over the chair to grab the absinthe and bringing the bottle to his lips.

“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees, “but I’m _your_ cheeky asshole,  _Master_.”

It’s snarkier than Kurt likes, but in other ways so sweetly spoken that Kurt isn’t angered by the sort of backhandedly superior way Sebastian calls him  _by his title_. He tips Sebastian’s head back over the back of the chair and kisses him, slowly letting his mouthful of absinthe drip past Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian swallows reflexively while his tongue goes in search of more, but not more absinthe, more  _Kurt._ Sebastian moans when Kurt’s tongue enters his mouth, tasting of flowers and anise, which mixes sensually with his natural flavor, the spice of clove cigarettes, and the scent of the jasmine candles he keeps lit in his bathroom at home, their sensual odor having seeped in to his skin.

Kurt pulls away and watches Sebastian, a blissful smile on his face, licking his lips to catch the last drop, or to chase after Kurt, but so completely relaxed that he doesn’t move a single inch.

“How did that taste?” Kurt asks.

“Really good, Master,” Sebastian admits, drawling with the intoxication of Kurt’s kiss, “but I’d have to say the absinthe is only so-so.”

 


	11. A Dalton Boy to Sink His Teeth Into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one-shot inspired by the theme 'biting', that, in reality, would probably happen further down in the storyline, but I didn't feel like sitting on it anymore. It will give you hints as to how their relationship is progressing, and what the two of them are feeling as what both Sebastian and Kurt think will be an ending to their time together draws near.

With the tips of his fingers, Kurt carefully lifts the arm of his retro Crosley Cruiser turntable and sets it down on the vinyl 78 already spinning. Kurt owns a Bose stereo system, but something about old vinyl LPs really turns him on. The scratching of the needle on the surface before the music begins puts him in a mood. It’s a prelude – something physical, a tangible sensation that CDs and mp3s don’t provide. He starts at the very beginning of one of his favorite albums – _Workingman’s Dead_ \- which he had been lucky enough to find in mint condition at a Salvation Army in Columbus a few years back.

The first time he got laid, it was with this album playing in the background, and he and his boyfriend barely lasted through the first song.

With any luck, this session will take up most of the tracks.

Smiling at his plan, Kurt strolls back to his bed where his sub waits, still dressed in his school uniform, arms up and out, cuffed to a metal bar resting over his shoulders, legs spread wide, his head obediently bowed. That uniform…Kurt hums when he sees it. It does things to Kurt. Brings back memories both good and bad. But on Sebastian, it makes Kurt hotter than the lit fuse to a high explosive and more than ready to explode.

With his gaze fixed downward, Kurt barely sees Sebastian’s green eyes. They’re heavy lidded and dark, staring at the comforter between his legs, and though he keeps his face impassive, Kurt _knows_. He knows Sebastian is smiling, even if it doesn’t show completely on his face. It’s in the subtle curve of his lips, a twitch in his cheeks, the thin creases beside his eyes. Sebastian _wants_ Kurt. He wants Kurt however he can have him. He wants whatever Kurt is about to give him.

And if Kurt wasn’t already hard as a rock, that smile – an enticing mixture of trust and excitement - would definitely push him over the edge.

“So, you agreed to try a little Sensation Play,” Kurt reminds Sebastian, walking slowly up alongside the bed. “I usually do this with pins or a Wartenberg wheel, but I think I prefer the thought of having my mouth on you.”

He watches Sebastian swallow, his lips parting as he takes a sharp breath in. It’s as close to a moan as he’s allowed to give, but it’s a sign of Sebastian’s willingness to be dominated, of his acceptance.

It’s the fuel that kicks Kurt’s ass into gear.

“Why don’t we start by getting you a little less dressed? What do you say, preppy?” Kurt reaches out a hand and runs it down the length of Sebastian’s leg. He starts at the top of his thigh and moves down, skirting those erogenous zones that Kurt knows about – his inner thigh, behind his knee, his calf, his ankles – and beneath Kurt’s hand, he feels Sebastian tremble. Kurt starts with Sebastian’s shoes, untying the laces and loosening them before he slips his leather Oxfords off, first the right, then the left, massaging the arches of Sebastian’s feet before the socks follow and get tossed to the floor. He could have easily commanded Sebastian to take off his uniform, could have made a performance of it - sat on his bed with his cock in his hand, stroking slowly while his obedient sub stripped for him. But Kurt likes this just as much. Rarely does he get to take care of a sub this way.

Rarely does he get to take care of a _man_ this way.

“Mmmm, I’m going to cover every inch of skin under this uniform,” Kurt says, undoing Sebastian’s tie and leaving it to hang from his neck while he unbuttons his shirt. “I’m going to play Connect-the-Dots with your freckles, put marks anywhere that doesn’t show.” He reaches Sebastian’s slacks and pops the button, hearing Sebastian pant by his ear as he slowly lowers the zip. “You’re going to feel them when you shower, when you sleep, when you sweat. So if you’re ever in any doubt, you’ll remember who you belong to.”

Kurt hears Sebastian’s voice come through barely as he breathes, and he knows his sub is itching to speak. It’s only due to burning curiosity that convinces Kurt to give him the command. “Speak.”

“I know who I belong to, Master,” Sebastian says in a voice so desperate it curls Kurt’s toes.

“Oh,” Kurt says, standing abruptly and backing away, “so maybe this isn’t necessary.”

“No!” Sebastian’s head snaps up, and he finds Kurt glaring, but with amusement. “Master, please, I…”

Kurt hushes him, walking back toward him with his hand up, fingers resting gently against his lips.

“Ooo, begging,” Kurt purrs. “I _love_ it when you beg. Do some more.”

Sebastian has already started to sweat, beads of it rolling down the length of his spine, and Kurt hasn’t even touched him yet.

“P-please, Master.” Sebastian stutters, rushing to comply. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, don’t stop.”

“What do you want, preppy?” Kurt teases, toying with the wool of Sebastian’s slacks where it covers his cock, scraping his fingers lightly over the bugle that’s begun to grow. “I need to hear exactly.”

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to give Kurt what he wants.

“I want you to mark me up, Master,” Sebastian says, the bar behind his neck battering the wall as he shakes. “I want…I want your mouth on me, your teeth on me, biting my skin. I want…”

Kurt puts his fingertips to Sebastian’s lips to hush his rambling.

“Oh preppy,” Kurt sighs, “I’ve wanted to mark you up good and proper since the first time you agreed to submit to me.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond, but Kurt swears he can feel a growl resonate low in his sub’s chest. It makes his heart skip, imagining that somewhere within his gorgeous sub might lie the spirit of a dominator.

Fleetingly, Kurt wonders what being dominated by Sebastian might be like.

It’s a temptation he has to snuff out quickly. It brands him with an image that is intensely hot…and terrifying.

“Normally, I’d blindfold you,” Kurt remarks, climbing on the bed between Sebastian’s legs, “but I kind of like you watching me. Now…” Kurt rubs his hands together. “Do I start from the top and work my way down? Or do I go down…” His eyes flick to Sebastian’s cock jerking against the cotton of his briefs. “And work my way up?”

A metallic clatter draws Kurt’s eyes to the bar behind Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian tugs on his cuffs in a reflexive motion to get to Kurt, one that Kurt should really punish Sebastian for by making him stew in those cuffs, suffer till his cock throbs in the confines of his tight underwear. Or if he had only thought to lock Sebastian up in chastity. A nice gleaming metal cage – something with a brass padlock and _teeth_ \- on that troublesome cock of Sebastian’s would look positively delicious.

Oh well. An idea for another time.

Kurt’s willpower begins to buckle with the memory of so many times he’s had his mouth on Sebastian’s skin already. He doesn’t want to wait.

“I think I’ll just pick my favorite spots as I go along,” he decides out loud and inches closer, gaze closing in on Sebastian’s shoulder. Kurt moves aside Sebastian’s jacket and shirt to reach it. He blows hot air over a spot, brushes his lips against it, then opens his mouth and bites down – close to Sebastian’s neck, but not too close. Sebastian groans, clamping his teeth together hard. His body stiffens, not from pain, but from his immediate need to feel more, to have more – to touch and taste Kurt as Kurt touches and tastes him. He keeps his legs spread open when he would rather wrap them around Kurt’s body and bring him close, held that way only by Kurt’s command. But in the binds of obedience, the bite becomes unbearable, because every other nerve in his body starts to beg for the same abuse.

“Mmm,” Kurt murmurs, pulling away and licking his lips, pleased with the bruise he’s made, “that’s a keeper. I really should be taking photographs.”

Sebastian shudders from the lack of contact, and chuckles once at Kurt’s comment, but Kurt’s not about to give Sebastian time to relax. He chooses the spot over Sebastian’s right nipple, opening his mouth around it and biting, but this time gentler, chewing as his tongue circles the tight bud of sensitive skin beneath it. Sebastian’s body falls open, his head thrown back, his hips creeping up, searching for contact. Kurt leaves that spot quickly and moves to one under Sebastian’s right arm, and this time Sebastian kicks a leg out in frustration of the sudden switch.

“No, no, no,” Kurt says, climbing into Sebastian’s lap and locking his sub’s legs to the mattress with the weight of his body. “We can’t have that. No moving, preppy. That’s the rule.”

Kurt returns to his work with no more words spoken, pushing aside parts of Sebastian’s uniform to reveal portions of skin to sink his teeth into. And Sebastian takes it, whimpering through closed lips. He has to take it. He has no choice, but even if he did, he’d choose this. Fuck yeah, he’d choose this. Kurt moves back and forth in Sebastian’s lap as he bites, rubbing the length of his erection against Sebastian’s, making Sebastian restless, making him squeeze his eyes shut as much to absorb Kurt’s bites as to pray for release. Sebastian wants Kurt on him, or in him, he’s not picky at the moment. He just wants to be owned.

Things are slightly different now during Sebastian’s weekends with Kurt. Sebastian thinks he might be getting to him. Sebastian has been unlocking new layers to this hardcore, tougher-than-nails, BDSM club owner, who has no patience for fools and takes shit from nobody.

As Sebastian feels Kurt rake blunt nails down his sides and take nips along his collarbone, his mind tries to journey to that place inside his brain that Kurt has helped him find – the one that leaves him floating, and brings him immeasurable peace. But one thought repeatedly enters his head that refuses to be swept away.

When Sebastian leaves Ohio after graduation, what’s going to happen to the two of them?

When this started out, Sebastian felt they were playing around. But since this submissive side of him has been unleashed, he can’t imagine shoving it back into hiding. What if this is what he wants as a permanent part of his life?

If that’s true, then it’s a son of a bitch, because he only wants to submit for Kurt. He can’t imagine ever being this vulnerable with anyone else.

But would Kurt want to try and make this relationship between them work long distance?

Of course, Sebastian could be wrong. He could be making this up in his mind, projecting something onto their arrangement that isn’t actually there, but he doesn’t think that’s likely.

Because the time they spend together isn’t just about sex or domination. It isn’t about Kurt asserting his control and Sebastian taking what Kurt dishes out.

It’s become about talking.

It’s become about secrets.

It’s become about knowing that Kurt’s favorite movie is _Moulin Rouge_ , his favorite series is _Sense8_ , and his favorite brand of chocolate is Original Beans Piura Porcelana 75%, which Kurt refuses to buy for himself because he thinks it’s too frivolous, so Sebastian always finds a way to keep a bar on hand.

It’s become about Kurt choosing Sebastian over his club on the weekends. It’s become about Kurt and Sebastian being as close to exclusive as two people can get.

Sebastian knows he hasn’t graduated high school yet, that he has a whole life of choices ahead of him, things to do and experience and explore – but what if this is the one choice that gets to be easy? What if _this_ he doesn’t have to think about? As corrupt and depraved as other people might make this out to be, Sebastian hasn’t felt happier, hasn’t felt more alive or at ease, than he does in Kurt’s violet bedroom, stripped and tied, or bound and flogged.

Kurt moves lower and lower, sliding off Sebastian’s lap to travel down his chest, leaving a trail of bites behind – some shallow indents, others turning red and indigo.

“Close your legs, baby,” Kurt says. “I need your pants off.”

Sebastian does what he’s told, swallowing hard when _baby_ slips past Kurt’s lips.

Kurt yanks Sebastian’s pants down, leaving them bunched at his ankles. Kurt picks a spot that he knows is sensitive to licks and kisses, the juncture of Sebastian’s hip where it joins his upper thigh. He runs his tongue over it and Sebastian’s whole body tenses. He goes silent, but a quick peek up and Kurt can see Sebastian’s eyes shut, his jaw clenched, his wrists rolling in the cuffs that bind him to the bar.

It’s the look of someone hungry for pleasure and anticipating pain.

“Open your eyes,” Kurt commands, breathing against that spot, knowing the effect the heat of his mouth has on it. “Open your eyes and watch me devour you.”

Sebastian’s eyelids flutter open and he stares into Kurt’s eyes, stares at Kurt who’s staring back with a sinister grin. Kurt sinks his teeth into soft flesh and Sebastian groans. Kurt decides he likes that particular groan, so he bites again.

“Come on, preppy,” Kurt says, running his tongue over the bite, “I want to hear you.”

“Y-yes, Master,” Sebastian moans when Kurt moves further down his legs and sucks. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Mmm, taking the Lord’s name in vain?” Kurt chuckles darkly. “Well, it sounds like things are progressing well.”

Sebastian doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know why this feels so good. It should hurt like hell, and some of the bites do, tender and sore long after Kurt’s mouth leaves them. This isn’t the first time Sebastian’s been bitten. One other guy’s done it to him before, not to this extent and definitely not with Sebastian cuffed up. He tried to be all sexy about it – some freshman who came on a little too strong, but Sebastian fucked him anyway. What he lacked in seduction technique he made up for in flexibility. But being bitten by Kurt - this was different. Kurt wasn’t amateurishly digging teeth into him. He was tasting him, gnawing on him slowly, warming him up, putting pressure in places that _want_ pressure - that _need_ it.

“Don’t stop,” Sebastian moans, the words cracking in the middle. “Please, Master. God…don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“You’re really a glutton for punishment,” Kurt kids, though he sees no reason to stop. Tasting Sebastian this way is an undeniable pleasure.

“Only from you,” Sebastian says, his eyes rolling behind shut lids as Kurt returns to bite his hip. “Only if it makes you happy, Master.”

_Only if it makes him happy._

Kurt smiles into the next series of bites, wondering what Elliott would think if he heard _that_.

“You know, I could make you cum like this, preppy,” Kurt mutters, his lips hovering over Sebastian’s cock, nibbling at it gently through the fabric of his briefs until his body vibrates. “I bet you didn’t know that, did you?” Kurt creeps the elastic waist band down, continuing on before Sebastian can answer. “But I think I’m going to do something a little more…interactive.”

“Yes,” Sebastian says, his voice shaking, suspecting the meaning behind the word _interactive_. “Yes, please.”

With Sebastian’s broken pleas in his ears, it takes Kurt less than a minute to undress – less than a minute for his black tank top and his jeans to hit the floor, less than a minute for Sebastian to see his Dom’s naked body and almost lose it entirely, less than a minute for Kurt to find a condom and a bottle of lube, put them on his sub, and sink down over Sebastian’s cock, desperate to be filled by this young man that he’s claimed over and over as his own – even though he knows he won’t get to keep him.

Kurt rides Sebastian merciless, holding on to the lapels of Sebastian’s blazer for leverage, kissing him hard on the mouth until neither of them can breathe, not letting up for a second when he feels Sebastian surrender beneath him, when Sebastian’s moans turn into whines, when every bite to Sebastian’s neck and shoulders are met with a shiver and every kiss a muffled, “ _Yes, Kurt! God, yes!_ ”

Lost in the intoxicating heat of Sebastian’s mouth, the driving force of his sub’s body as he snaps his hips up to meet his Dom, Kurt vaguely hears the metal bar slam repeatedly against the wall. From the corner of his eye, he can see Sebastian’s right wrist, the skin rubbed raw and bruised by the cuffs he’s trying to tear out of, or at least bend the bar behind his neck in half to reach Kurt, and for a second Kurt chuckles, not entirely sure that Sebastian can’t do it.

“Hey, now,” Kurt pants, kissing Sebastian’s cheek but not slowing his pace. “Settle down, baby. You’ll wreck the drywall.”

“O-okay,” Sebastian agrees, relaxing into the cuffs, melting into the wall, giving his body over completely to every one of Kurt’s whims, knowing in the end that Kurt will let him cum.

The man is too far gone to resist.

“Oh my God,” Kurt mutters, pressing against Sebastian’s sweat-slick chest, sandwiching his cock between them. He ruts over Sebastian’s abs as he feels his body stiffen, from his toes all the way up to his neck, fingers curling into Sebastian’s lapel and wadding the fabric. “Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God…”

Sebastian’s lips twist into a smile. He’s fucked Kurt enough times by now to know that this repetitive chanting of _Oh my God, oh my God_ means he’s about done, that unless his Dom has any secret plans to be especially cruel, he’s going to mess Sebastian up; he’s going to ruin another Dalton uniform.

And Sebastian loves it. Sebastian loves the smell of cloves embedded in the fibers, and those stains that don’t quite come out.

“Oh Go---“ Kurt cuts himself off by attacking Sebastian’s mouth and letting his sub kiss him, letting Sebastian’s tongue caressing his be the final thing that does him in. There’s no denying the strength Sebastian’s kisses give to Kurt’s orgasm, the fact that locked together this way makes him decadently dizzy, or that the friction against Sebastian’s smooth skin mirroring the sweep of his tongue is addictive, and it drains him dry. Kurt stops moving and Sebastian bucks up, burying himself deep in his Dom’s body and steals a bit of that kiss’s effect for his own as he finishes, though he was pretty much done the second Kurt’s lips touched his.

“Oh, God,” Kurt moans, his head dropping to Sebastian’s shoulder, wobbling back and forth, “I love that. And you…you just…Jesus Christ…” The blazer stretched askew, Kurt exhales onto Sebastian’s skin and watches as gooseflesh sprouts there. It’s so simple, such a quick reaction, to his presence, to his touch. He hasn’t seen a man react that way to him in a long time.

He hasn’t been this exposed to any man as he has with Sebastian since…well, in a long time.

Kurt looks down at the bite mark directly beneath his mouth. He licks over it, his tongue outlining the indentations in Sebastian’s skin, and Sebastian’s breathing quickens, his body quivering, his chest shaking, as if he might cum again.

And Kurt wants to make him cum. For some reason, Kurt wants to give this boy all the pleasure he can handle – and some that he can’t.

Not because it comes at the end of a whip or a flogger.

But because, emotionally, it means more than what they’re doing together now.

There’s just so many times Kurt can dominate this kid and then pretend that what happens after – the cuddling, the sleeping together, the kissing – means nothing.

But as much as Kurt may want it, he can’t give in. He can’t give it to Sebastian. Kurt can’t torture himself, giving all he has when he knows it’s going to be taken away.

“What have I gotten into with you, preppy?” Kurt asks, sinking further into Sebastian’s lap. He grabs a handful of his sub’s hair and kisses him, kisses him hard, trying to find the answer for himself from the taste of Sebastian’s lips. Why? Why was Kurt so infatuated with him? He’s just a cocky-ass kid. Kurt lets go, throwing Sebastian’s head back, almost into the wall.

“Are you…are you sorry…Master?” Sebastian asks. Kurt looks at Sebastian, at the mixture of bliss and confusion and hesitation on his face. Kurt doesn’t want to add to that, but he needs to be honest. Most of all, he needs to stay in control. Kurt bites Sebastian on the lower lip for talking without permission, but even that bit of punishment earns him a low moan, and Kurt laughs. He laughs because he realizes the worst possible thing imaginable.

He and this arrogant prep school punk are made for each other.

“Not a bit,” Kurt says, moving down to rest his head on Sebastian’s chest, amidst the sweat and the bite marks…and the sound of his heart beat. “Not a single fucking bit.”


	12. A Dalton Boy Decorated for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sebastian does the (mildly) unthinkable, Kurt punishes him by decorating him for Christmas. 
> 
> Warning for bondage, cuffs, extremely mild choking, sensation play (heat and pricking), cock cage, cock torture, nipple clamps, and anal plug.
> 
> This is another one-shot that takes place more in the future of this series, inspired by the Hummel Holidays prompts lights, decorations, and tree.

Kurt, carrying a box overflowing with garland, ornaments, and Christmas lights, strolls blithely into his living room. If he hears any whimpering over the jingle of glass knocking against glass in the box he sets on floor, he ignores it; any shifting from discomfort on the part of his sub, arms cuffed at the wrists behind his back, calves tied to his thighs with holiday appropriate green and red ropes, kneeling on the beveled seam of the coffee table, his legs spread at an extreme angle to put the bulk of his weight on the front-inside edge of the joints, Kurt lets it slide this one time.

“You made fun of my artificial tree, preppy,” Kurt says, addressing his sub with his back turned. “A tree that’s been in my family for decades.” Kurt unpacks various items from the box, setting them neatly on the floor. “You said I should get a real one, and you wouldn’t let it go.” Kurt pulls out a string of lights, which he idly untangles, working on the knots in the wire, careful not to dislodge the bulbs. “Then you made fun of my Christmas lights. I think you called them _old ass_ Christmas lights.”

Sebastian blows out through his nose, the way he does when he’s about to defend himself, but he stops at opening his mouth, and Kurt smirks.

“Bad move, preppy,” Kurt continues. “Nobody makes fun of my Christmas decorations and gets away with it. _Nobody_.”

Actually, Sebastian had offered to buy Kurt new lights, _and_ a new tree. Kurt will probably take him up on it tomorrow, not because he needs Sebastian buying him anything, but because the thought of going shopping with Sebastian for something silly, like a Christmas tree, sounds like it could be fun.

It sounds like it could be considered a _date_ , a normal-ish one. They haven’t had too many of those yet.

Maybe he can convince Sebastian to take him bowling beforehand. It’s been ages since Kurt’s gone bowling. He used to love going with his dad and his friends.

Does Sebastian bowl?

If he doesn’t, he probably will if Kurt asks him to.

But first things first. Sebastian needs to be punished for making fun, and tormenting his sub like this is too delicious.

Kurt turns around, holding the freshly untangled light string stretched between his hands.

“Well, if you’re going to make fun of my tree, then you get to _be_ my tree.” He plugs the string into an outlet on the wall, relieved when every bulb lights up. It would have been a little embarrassing if, after all Kurt’s fussing, Sebastian had been right about his _old ass_ lights. Slowly, Kurt wraps his sub in the multi-colored lights, starting at his hips. “Do you know _why_ I like these so much? Go ahead and answer, preppy.”

“I…I don’t know, Master,” Sebastian admits, his breath hitching as the light string tightens and travels higher, plastic tips scratching, tiny exposed metal wires from the bases of the lights pricking his skin. Kurt weaves in and out of view, walking into Sebastian’s line of sight for seconds at a time, grinning that wickedly seductive grin Kurt has – the one he shares with no one but Sebastian any more.

“I like these, preppy, because they’re sharp, and because they get hot, which makes them perfect for you.” Kurt chuckles, dark and sinister, in that way Sebastian dreams about when he’s not with his Dom, the way Sebastian craves. When Kurt chuckles like that, it opens a doorway to pain and punishment, which has become addictive, but which also ends in Sebastian’s favorite form of after-care – lots of rough sex, followed by lying together in each other’s arms, kissing until they fall asleep. “You know, I heard on a TV show once that there are five main aspects of torture: blunt, cold, hot, sharp, and loud. To be honest, I can think of dozens more. But I do have to admit that hot and sharp are two of my favorites.” Kurt wraps the last two feet around Sebastian’s neck three times to form a collar, then tucks the end in. He puts a hand over them, around Sebastian’s neck, and compresses slightly. The lights aren’t too hot since Kurt just plugged them in, but Sebastian feels them warming up, and that pointy something pinches like teeth.

Like a bite.

Like Kurt biting his neck, nibbling marks on his skin until he cums, and Sebastian starts to get hard. His cock swells, but something else pointed – blunt and pointed - presses there, too.

Watching Sebastian’s reaction, Kurt sees his sub’s cock bob, then wither, and he laughs.

“Do you like your Christmas present, preppy? I hope you don’t mind that I gave it to you a little early.”

Sebastian swallows hard in response, but says nothing.

“I always knew you’d look good locked in a cage” - Kurt runs his fingertips lightly over the sheath he has Sebastian’s cock trapped in - “but this one in particular is a personal favorite. Do you know why I love this so much?” Kurt asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. “Well, one, because it makes your dick look fabulous, tucked inside that clear silicone, behaving like the good little boy you are” – Kurt squeezes Sebastian’s cheeks, then gives him a slap – “but best of all, it’s got these seventeen little spikes around the inside to keep your guy still, and when I want, I can give it a squeeze…” Kurt wraps his hand around Sebastian’s stunted shaft and squeezes. The spikes dig in, more than before, and Sebastian reflexively hisses. “That’s a taste of what it’s gonna feel like when you fuck me wearing that thing, preppy,” Kurt whispers, bending over to tease Sebastian’s ear with his tongue, forcing his sub’s cock to get hard. “Can you imagine my ass squeezing around you, digging those spikes into your dick? I know you’ll enjoy it, Sebastian. You have a thing for pain. That’s why you’re with me, right? That’s why you come back for more and more and more…” Kurt squeezes and strokes, squeezes and strokes, and Sebastian bites his teeth together, trying not to whimper.

Trying not to moan.

Kurt gives one last squeeze before he lets go and returns to his work. He takes his time with the rest of his decorating, not saying much while he hangs ball ornaments off the ropes around Sebastian’s thighs, ties red velvet ribbons around Sebastian’s biceps, and clips tiny metal partridges on clamps to his nipples. Kurt hangs a golf-ball sized bell, tied to a silky red cord, to the base of Sebastian’s cage, to warn Kurt whenever his sub tries to find relief for his member. He's been warned on other occasions when he's had that bell tied to his junk that every jingle equals ten whacks with Kurt's cane. Kurt tops it off with an angel on Sebastian’s head - a beautiful papier mache angel, dressed in a flowing white gown, with fluffy wings, and a proper golden halo. It’ll help keep Sebastian immobile, since he’ll have to concentrate hard to keep the bell on his cock from ringing and the angel balanced.

Kurt backs up to get a good look at his centerpiece.

“I feel like something’s missing,” Kurt remarks, looking Sebastian up and down, staring into his eyes, searching for any hint of defiance, of embarrassment, of arousal – the three things Kurt can always draw out of Sebastian that makes dominating him such a thrill. “Oh” – Kurt snaps in a _Eureka!_ type fashion – “I think I know.” He reaches into his jeans – his tight, tight jeans – and pulls out a red metal plug with a rhinestone base, bigger than the ones Kurt’s used on him so far.

“This is another present,” Kurt comments as he walks back to his sub. “Man, you’re really raking them in today, aren’t you?” Kurt sees a smile fight to tug up the corner of Sebastian’s lips, but his sub manages to kill it before it can grow. “And it looks like I’m treating you too well” – Kurt pulls out his trusty bottle of lube and slicks the plug up, rounding behind his sub to insert his new toy – “because I think you might be enjoying yourself a little too much here.” Sebastian tenses when the tip of the plug breaches his entrance, but relaxes completely when Kurt slides it in, pushing gingerly, then twisting to seat it where it will get close to where Sebastian wants it, but not near enough. Still, Sebastian melts, throwing his head back and almost dislodging the angel from his head.

“No, no, no,” Kurt scolds, giving the base a few quick flicks, and the partridge clamps on his nipples a firm tug to get Sebastian in line, “none of that. If you’re a good Christmas tree, we can play with that later.” Kurt puts a hand on Sebastian’s ass, palming his cheek, massaging gently, then digs his nails in. He runs the tip of his tongue underneath Sebastian’s jaw, over his pulse, feeling it stutter at his touch. A little suck in that same spot rewards him with the start of a moan, then a harsh hiss as the prickly cock cage does its job.

“Now, I’m going to leave you here for a mo’, preppy,” Kurt says, strolling toward the front door, “but I’ll be back really soon.”

“Wh-where are you going, Master?” Sebastian asks, trembling at the thought that he shouldn’t speak, and if he does, Kurt might come back over and give his throbbing cock another squeeze.

Kurt is using the cock cage to train Sebastian. Cumming from a few squeezes might be considered a step back.

“I’m just going outside for a smoke, and to invite a few friends over.” Kurt shows Sebastian his phone and throws him a wink. “You’re too festive a sight not to share.”


	13. A Dalton Boy Given Fair Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's no secret that Elliott isn't very fond of Sebastian, but at Kurt's impromptu Christmas party, where Sebastian gets to do his penance as Kurt's Christmas tree, Sebastian finds out how much...and why.
> 
> Written for the Hummel Holidays prompt "holiday party", and follows the one-shot "A Dalton Boy Decorated for the Holidays".
> 
> Warning for mention of pain in the form of one quick cigarette burn, nipple twisting, cock torture, and scratching; humiliation, angst, and consensual domination of a sub by someone other than his Dom (in this situation, even though Sebastian doesn't like it, his permission was implied and given blanketly, just not in the dialogue seen here).

Kurt had said he was stepping outside to smoke a cigarette and make a few calls, invite some people over to see his new Christmas centerpiece.

After his first phone call, which Sebastian assumes was to Elliott considering how often he laughed and changed his tone, dipping his voice down seductively for a few responses (which Kurt only does with Elliott…or Sebastian), Kurt pops back in through the door to grab Sebastian’s cashmere peacoat. He tosses Sebastian a wink as he slips the coat on, opting to pull it tight in the front and fold his arms over it instead of buttoning it up, then goes back outside. Sebastian is tempted to bite his lower lip, but he’s not allowed to move in Kurt’s house when Kurt’s outside, so he doesn’t, but the idea that Kurt has wrapped himself in his coat to keep himself warm, that the fabric will end up imbued with the scent of cloves the way most of his clothes now have, makes Sebastian hard.

And hard means having his sensitive skin shoved up against silicone spikes, which also reminds Sebastian of Kurt, of his touch, of his sensual cruelty, of his kiss, his taste, his fuck.

That makes Sebastian even harder.

Kurt ends up staying outside for close to an hour, stomping in place and smoking his clove to keep from freezing, gleefully throwing together a last minute soiree. Sebastian hears Kurt’s high-pitched laugh through the door, hears him agree with someone’s suggestion to call this person, then that person, and, oh yeah, that one couple before they head off on vacation - so many people that when Kurt comes back in, he’s on the phone with DiCicco’s Pizza, ordering about a dozen different pies, negotiating with their delivery boy about stopping by the 7-11 for a couple of cases of Budweiser and some wine coolers for the promise of a beer, a slice, and a hefty tip.

When Kurt’s done making plans, he walks straight up to Sebastian and kisses him hard, holding his sub against him with one hand on his back and the other on his ass, his crushing embrace digging the small, sharp bulbs into Sebastian’s skin.

“You’d better get ready, preppy,” Kurt whispers, biting around his sub’s mouth with cold teeth. Kurt crushes his cigarette out on Sebastian’s collarbone, smiling like a mirthful demon when Sebastian hisses through his teeth, but otherwise barely flinches. “We’re going to have a party.”

***

Sebastian isn’t sure where any of these people live, but they seem to show up in minutes. He expects a gathering of Doms and subs straight from Kurt’s club, all dressed the way Kurt usually does, in ripped jeans and t-shirts, with multiple piercings, and a plethora of tattoos, basically the flashing neon signs indicative of someone living an _alternative lifestyle_ , but the people that arrive look so _normal_ , it’s almost unnerving.

One woman Kurt hugs at the door and addresses as Marley shows up wearing a simple but elegant burgundy lace dress, paired with a purple cowl scarf and brown leather cowboy boots. With her shoulder length, wavy golden-brown hair and minimal makeup, she bears a frightening resemblance to Sebastian’s kindergarten teacher, Ms. Halsley, who Sebastian once had a minor crush on. Marley has her sub Jake dressed in black designer jeans and a form fitting Henley in a shade of burgundy that matches her dress. Walking down the street, Sebastian probably wouldn’t peg them for Domina (which Jake calls her) and sub. The only clues that Sebastian notices as the fledgling sub he is are the black leather collar Jake wears around his neck, and the fact that he keeps his head bowed, his eyes trained on the ground, looking no one in the eye. When they walk, they walk together, with Marley looping one slender finger through a metal O-ring hanging from Jake’s collar, and when she sits, she tugs him down to the floor to kneel by her side.

Unique and Ryder are sort of an odd couple. They arrive together, and after saying hello to Kurt, fan out to join the group, separately, but conspicuously together. Unique is dressed in something designer - bright, flowing, and complimentary to her voluptuous figure. Ryder looks like he could have just come from baseball tryouts in faded jeans worn at the knees and a long sleeve tee. Every so often, they turn at the same time and look at one another from across the room, and for a second, they simply become lost in one another.

But there doesn’t seem to be a power play going on between them, nothing that would leap out and grab Sebastian’s attention. Sebastian remembers Kurt talking to them at the club. They’re switches. Sebastian hasn’t a clue about all the lingo yet, but he remembers Elliott saying something about _switching_ for Kurt.

Sebastian has to remember to find out what exactly that means.

Not every Dom brings a sub with them. Mercedes, who Sebastian has seen at Kurt’s club and is apparently an old high school friend, shows up without her sub, Sam, who she mentions being back in Wisconsin visiting his folks. And Adam, an ex of Kurt’s (Sebastian wonders offhandedly where his tattoo is on Kurt’s body, since Sebastian knows that a few of Kurt’s tatts are dedicated to old flames) says he’s currently between subs, preferring to dominate for pleasure down at Kurt’s club. A handful of subs show up alone. They must have experience going to parties thrown by these Doms before. They seem to immediately know their place, relegating themselves to kitchen help, or in a few cases, as pieces of furniture – one crouching to become an extra end table for Marley to put her drink on, another acting as an ottoman for Adam without needing to be asked.

And Sebastian, acting as Kurt’s Christmas tree, has joined the ranks as one of them.

Sebastian doesn’t mind being a sub for Kurt, doesn’t particularly care what these other Doms think of him, but he can’t say he isn’t glad that no one from Dalton can see him like this.

Kurt had given Sebastian strict orders with regard to his own behavior before the rest of the Doms and subs arrived.

He is not a human.

He’s nothing but a decoration.

He’s to stay still, in his one spot, and do nothing.

He is not allowed to move.

He is not allowed to talk.

He is to keep his head upright, with his eyes aimed down at the floor.

He is not allowed to blink when someone is staring directly at him.

If he needs something, he’s to signal his Dom.

He is not allowed to need anything.

Sebastian is not entirely okay with this. This is the height of dehumanization. He’s a toy, something for people to gawk at, manipulate, and touch. It seems like the Doms in the room have been given carte blanche to do with him as they please, though Sebastian knows that isn’t right. He knows they have rules, too, he just hasn’t been made privy to them. He’s not on the level with them, not here in this room, so he doesn’t deserve to know.

Sebastian doesn’t like hands pawing at him, isn’t thrilled with the idea of people who aren’t Kurt touching him. But this is his punishment – he earned this treatment. And aside from that, this makes Kurt happy. Having an obedient sub makes Kurt happy. Showing off Sebastian’s submission and his discipline makes Kurt happy…and proud. Proud of Sebastian.

So Sebastian does this…for Kurt.

Sebastian knows that one word from his lips will bring this all to an end, but then Kurt might be disappointed in him. Sebastian craves Kurt’s approval, more than anyone’s in his life. More than his teachers. More than his coach. More than his parents. Kurt is a fair Dom (from what Sebastian can tell) but his approval isn’t always easily earned. Sebastian’s not going to lose it, not a single speck of it.

Sebastian decides to zone out, try to search out his _happy place_ and stay there, watching the proceedings from afar. He still isn’t that good at it, but with Kurt’s help, he’s getting better – good enough to vacate this party for a while and deal.

Sebastian probably would have succeeded, too, if _he_ hadn’t shown up.

“Well, well, well, from prep school prick, to puppy, to prop.” Elliott tuts, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t your rich parents be proud?” he says, with a smile amused to the point of condescension. “Don’t you look the part, too?” He trails the edge of a sharply filed fingernail down Sebastian’s skin, starting from the crook of his neck, through the burn on his collarbone, down his chest, digging deep enough as he travels that Sebastian’s certain he’s drawing blood. Elliott pauses to flick at the clamps on Sebastian’s nipples, then drags the nail over Sebastian’s abs, leaving a raised white scratch on his tan skin. He stops right above the spiked cage on Sebastian’s swollen cock, pulsing with heat and already uncomfortably tight. “When you want to weed yourself into a place you don’t belong, you definitely commit to the process.”

“Play nice, Elliott,” both men hear Kurt’s voice call from across the living room.

“Oh, I am, Kurt,” Elliott answers back with an impressively easy chuckle, even as his eyes burn holes into Sebastian’s skull. “I’m just admiring your new tree. So much better than _last year’s_ tree. I wonder what _next year’s_ tree is going to look like.”

Sebastian swallows the insinuation. Sebastian knows that Kurt had an artificial tree last year. Kurt told him. In fact, Sebastian’s mockery of said tree is what put him in this situation to begin with. No. What Elliott’s saying is that Sebastian isn’t special, that he’s no different than the man currently kneeling on the floor, with a bowl of chips on his back along with Marley’s can of Diet Coke. He’s saying that Sebastian, regardless of the time he’s spent with Kurt and how far they’ve come, is easily replaced – that he _will_ be replaced. By next year, Kurt will have another man kneeling on his coffee table naked and strung up in lights, or tied up in his bed.

Elliott’s trying to get to him, in the pettiest, most immature way possible.

And it’s working.

“ _Elliott_ …” A second call from Kurt that sounds like a warning.

“In a minute, _love_ ,” Elliott returns over his shoulder, his hard as ice blue eyes burrowing through the heat from the lights wrapped around Sebastian’s body. “Now listen up, prep school,” Elliott starts, leaning in to keep this one-sided conversation private. “In case you haven’t guessed, the amazing man whose house you’ve invaded and whose life you’ve taken over happens to be _my_ best friend,” Elliott says, idly twisting the clips on Sebastian’s nipples, as if the fact that it might be excruciatingly painful either never occurred to him, or he doesn’t care.

Sebastian suspects the latter.

“He’s been my friend longer than anyone,” Elliott continues, taking the liberty to readjust the green wires wrapped around Sebastian’s body to tighten the now hot string of lights, then pressing down on the hangers to the ornaments so they dig into his legs a pinch more, “and I’ve been in love with him since the day I met him.” Elliott’s eyes focus in on the cage surrounding Sebastian’s cock. He wraps his hand around it and holds, the threat in his pale eyes crystal clear. Sebastian clenches his teeth, preparing for the worst. “So listen closely to what I’m about to tell you, because I don’t like repeating myself.” Elliott gives Sebastian’s cock a squeeze, driving the silicone spikes in. It hurts like fucking hell, like getting a massive hard-on and having it trampled by cleats, but Sebastian refuses to give Elliott the satisfaction of knowing. “Kurt is a strong man, the biggest badass I know, but deep down inside all of that is a heart that’s been broken too many times, and every time it gets broken, _I’m_ the one who gets to pick up the pieces.” Elliott squeezes harder. Sebastian’s muscles tighten, trembling, from his traitorous upper lip to his ass clenched around his new plug, his legs starting to shake like he’s been hit with a thousand volts of electricity. His body revolts, his instinct to fight trying to overpower his brain’s edict to stay still, but Sebastian can’t move. He can’t pull away. He clamps his teeth together, causing his right eyebrow to twitch, but he does his best to ignore it, ignore everything, ignore the pain, ignore Elliott’s anger…ignore the embarrassment of being dominated this way, and by Elliott of all people. “And I’m _really_ good at it, too,” Elliott brags, licking his lips in a suggestive way that forces Sebastian to picture exactly _how_ Elliott puts Kurt’s pieces back together. “I usually just sit in the corner and wait for shit to go down, because Kurt’s a big boy, and he gets to make up his own mind about who he fucks, no matter how stupid and awful his choices are. But I refuse to let Kurt get his heart broken because of a privileged little punk like you. So if you have no intention of seeing this relationship through to the end, you’d better pack your shit up right now and disa- _fucking_ -ppear.”

Elliott gives Sebastian’s aching cock one more squeeze, harder than the rest, harder than Kurt ever has, forcing Sebastian, for all his attempts to remain stoic, to groan through locked teeth before he finally lets go. Elliott grins at his victory when Sebastian almost collapses off the table.

But Sebastian can’t. His stomach spins, wraps up in itself, and pulls tight, making him want to vomit, but he can’t move.

He won’t disobey Kurt; not because of motherfucking Elliott.

Elliott saunters off, heading for Kurt in a roundabout way, taking his sweet time saying _what’s up_ to a few other heads and grabbing a drink before he reaches him. Above his gaze, through his eyelashes, Sebastian sees Kurt’s eyes drift his way, his sunny smile of pride drooping at the corners at the nausea on his sub’s face. Sebastian knows if they lock eyes, Kurt will come over to find out what’s wrong. Sebastian shifts his eyes just half an inch out of Kurt’s reach. Sebastian can’t look at him. Not after that.

It wasn’t just physically painful.

It was humiliating.

And if Kurt forces him to admit that, he might as well drive a steel pike through his foot. It would probably hurt less.

Sebastian needs to think, figure out a way to deal with Elliott. He can’t disrespect him, can’t go after him, can’t cut him down. He probably shouldn’t tell Kurt about this incident if he can help it. As long as Kurt doesn’t ask him about it directly, he should be in the clear.

The really fucked up part about all of this – the part that Sebastian hates to think about – is that Sebastian _needs_ Elliott. If he’s going to win Kurt over these last few steps, convince him that this relationship (which Kurt seems dead and determined has a time limit) is worth holding on to, even after Sebastian leaves, he needs to get Elliott on his side. Ultimately, he wishes he could find a way to make Elliott like him…or, at least, tolerate him.

Maybe just get Elliott to not want to mutilate his junk if all else fails.

Sebastian probably could have tried convincing Elliott by telling him how he really feels about Kurt, but he’s not about to tell anyone, especially Elliott, before he has the chance to tell Kurt.

Or before he comes to terms with it himself.

But none of that would have mattered - not to Elliott, anyway.

Sebastian used to think that Elliott hated him on principle, because of his _six degrees of separation_ association with Blaine, or simply because Elliott is Kurt’s best friend, but it’s much, much worse than that.

Elliott’s in love with Kurt, and he’s already staked a claim.


	14. A Dalton Boy Learns the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Kurt's Christmas party, Kurt finally sees what Elliott did to Sebastian, and he demands that Sebastian tell him the truth.
> 
> Warning for cigarette burns, sub drop, and a moment of Blaine unfriendliness.
> 
> Takes place after 'A Dalton Boy Given Fair Warning'
> 
> FYI - I've shuffled the chapters to put them in chronological order. If you go to Sebklaine and look me up under smellslikecraigslist, you'll see the order they were originally written in.

“Oh my _God_! Thank you so much for coming over on such short notice!” Sebastian hears Kurt gush to someone he’s seeing to the front door. “It was _so_ good to see you guys again!”

“And you, too,” Sebastian hears the distinctly feminine voice of Marley saying farewell on behalf of her and her sub. “It’s so nice to see you with a new little boy to play with after…well, after the unpleasantness.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says with a rare sincerity. Sebastian can tell by the way Kurt talks to Marley that he holds her in rather high regard as a dominant, showing her a sort of professional respect he doesn’t bestow lightly, even to people that he treats as his close friends.

Marley and her sub Jake stayed the longest, along with the slaves, who played their roles as furniture up until the last guest left. Some of Kurt’s guests had other holiday gatherings to get to, and a few new people dropped by. Kurt seemed to be one on a list of dominants throwing parties that night, and so his became a revolving door of dominants and their subs stopping by on their way to or from different soirees. Some brought food and alcohol from other parties dying down, so three hours in Kurt’s house was packed, and the liquor started flowing.

Elliott was one of the first guests to leave, bowing out when the party got lively and people started occupying Kurt’s time. Sebastian heard Kurt ask him about a dozen times if he really had to go, and listened to the oblique responses Elliott gave for leaving, including stopping by the club to make sure things were copacetic without either of its owners present. Kurt and Elliott had managers who handled things without them on occasion, but Kurt and Elliott were sticklers when it came to the running of their club.

That club was their baby. They didn’t like to leave it playing too long on its own.

As far as Sebastian was concerned, Elliott didn’t come to party. He came to make a point.

And he sure as hell made it.

No one else really bothered with Sebastian after Elliott stopped by and made his threat, too wrapped up in their own subs or catching up with friends to care about Kurt’s new Christmas decoration much more than to offer the ubiquitous, “Hey, Kurt! Nice tree.” Unique passed by and ran her hand down his chest, ruby red stiletto nails leaving only light marks since everyone knew better than to permanently mark-up Kurt’s sub. Sebastian’s strangest encounter of the evening came when some woman named Tina walked over to inspect him and licked his neck. Kurt barked out something about Sebastian not being a baby cupcake, he had no frosting to lick off, and that she should move along. She left Sebastian with a look that fell somewhere between offended and determined, and Sebastian was sure she would be back, but she left, taking one of the slaves with her before she ever got the chance.

Marley stopped by to make sure Sebastian wasn’t cold. He couldn’t answer when she asked, which she knew, and praised him for. It felt strange to receive praise from a dominant other than his own. He didn’t think he would like it. But Marley was sweet, motherly in her concern, and it made Sebastian feel good to think that she genuinely cared. She left Sebastian to discuss her concerns with Kurt, who assured her that Sebastian was fine, and that he knew Sebastian was fine because if Sebastian wasn’t, he would give Kurt a sign to let him know.

Sebastian never did.

But he wasn’t fine.

By the time the last of the slaves leave, and Kurt locks his door and turns off his porch light, Sebastian doesn’t think he can stay kneeling anymore. As it is, his shoulders had started to curve, the angel on his head in very real danger of tumbling to the carpet. He figures he’ll be punished for that, and for the way his legs and arms won’t stop shaking.

“Well, I think that was a huge success,” Kurt says in a chipper voice. “Time to get you undecorated, preppy, although…it might be nice to keep you lit, and sleep underneath you.” It’s an idle remark; Kurt can see his sub is about to collapse. He starts with the clips on Sebastian’s nipples, and the glass ornaments hanging from their metal hooks around his thighs. Sebastian’s thighs quiver, and Kurt’s head pops up, suddenly remembering something important. “Oops! Almost forgot…” He travels around to Sebastian’s back and removes his plug, relieving the pressure of him staying tensed to keep it in. “Everyone made a point of mentioning how festive you look, preppy.” Kurt rescues the angel off Sebastian’s head, then unwraps the ribbons from his biceps. “I think even grumpy old Elliott had a good time. He might be warming up to you a little.” Sebastian’s eyelids flutter shut. God, Kurt sounds so pleased at that, the thought that Elliott might accept what Kurt’s got going with Sebastian and just…be happy for him. Kurt comes around Sebastian’s front and starts fiddling with the bell and the cock cage. “This has to be aching by now, huh, preppy?” Kurt chuckles, removing the cage with care since he can see Sebastian’s swollen member filling it to the brink. He stops for a second and raises an eyebrow, the smile from his thought of Sebastian and Elliott finally getting along sinking down at the corners. “Is that…blood?” He removes the cage and glares at Sebastian’s abused cock, covered in dark marks and indents, some of them black and blue, a few crusted in dried blood.

“Jesus Christ,” Kurt says. It surprises Sebastian, watching Kurt through eyelids barely open, how wide Kurt’s eyes become. “Who the _fuck_ did this to you?”

Sebastian bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to answer, but he doesn’t have to.

“What did he say to you, preppy?” Kurt asks, seething with an anger that suffuses his calm. “I know he said something. Tell me what the fuck Elliott said to you!” Sebastian knows he’s required to answer a direct question from his Dom, but how does he tell Kurt this? That his best friend threatened him? Tortured him? There’s so much tension back and forth between Elliott and Sebastian, which always ends in Kurt telling Sebastian that he has to respect Elliott, even if he disagrees with him. Would Kurt even believe that Sebastian isn’t putting a spin on it to make Elliott look bad?

Kurt doesn’t wait any longer for a response. He grabs his ashtray from over by the couch, pulls out his pack of cigarettes and his BIC, and lights one up. From the corner of Sebastian’s eye, he sees the clove glowing red while Kurt sucks on it. Kurt blows out a mouthful of smoke and extinguishes the cigarette on Sebastian’s chest, on his left pec, right above his nipple. Sebastian flinches, his discipline slipping as exhaustion takes precedence.

“Your loyalty’s to _me_ , preppy,” Kurt growls. “Not him. He did this to you. He doesn’t give a shit about you. So, if you have something to tell me, you better fucking tell me now.”

That comment and his command should be enough, more than the threat of cigarette burns, but somehow, it isn’t. Sebastian knows Kurt will be pissed if he doesn’t answer.

How pissed would he be, though, if he thought Sebastian was lying?

Kurt re-lights his cigarette, sucks in a breath, and crushes this one out above the first burn, the borders where the two burns overlap smarting to high heaven.

“I can do this about three times with each cigarette, and I’ve got a carton of these in my room, preppy,” Kurt says, lighting the tip another time and putting it out on Sebastian’s chest, creating a line of burns traveling up from his nipple. “I can do this all night. Plus, you’ve effectively lost your spot on my bed for the evening. You can sleep kneeling here on this fucking coffee table for all I care.”

Sebastian’s heart sinks to his stomach. He lost it – his spot on Kurt’s bed. He fucking lost it because of Elliott. He lost something that most of Kurt’s subs can’t even earn. He lost it because he got caught between a rock and a hard place with no fucking way out. He lost it because he tried to do the right thing and failed.

He lost it because he’s replaceable. If Kurt got rid of Sebastian today, there would be a line of subs circling the block ready to take his place, subs who actually understand what it means to be a submissive, subs who could do this better for Kurt, jump the second he snaps his fingers, without a thought except doing what they’re told and making Kurt happy.

“He told me that he loves you, Master,” Sebastian says in as emotionless a voice as possible.

Kurt nods, holding his cigarette threateningly over the flame of his lighter. “That’s a start, but I knew that already,” Kurt says, “and so did you. That’s not all. What else?”

Sebastian locks his jaw, and Kurt lights his cigarette.

Sebastian sighs. He doesn’t particularly care how many cigarettes Kurt puts out on his chest. It hurts less than admitting what Elliott said…and that Sebastian believes him.

“He told me that…” The whole conversation is right there on Sebastian’s tongue. He’d thought over Elliott’s words so many times while trying to slip away to his peaceful place that Sebastian could recite it word for word, but Elliott’s snarky comments and threats all boiled down to one thing, the only thing that bothered Sebastian really, aside from the idea that when Sebastian leaves for New York, Elliott gets to _put Kurt back together_ …if Kurt even misses Sebastian when he’s gone. “He says that I’m…replaceable, Master.”

Kurt flicks the flame off on his lighter and crushes the cigarette out in his ashtray.

“Fucking Elliott,” Kurt says, shaking his head. Kurt’s said it so many times that anyone who didn’t know them might think that’s actually Elliott’s full name. “Don’t listen to him, preppy,” Kurt says softly. “Alright? _I’m_ your Master. You listen to what _I_ say, and only what I say, unless I tell you otherwise. You understand? Respond.”

“I do, Master,” Sebastian says.

“Good.” Kurt starts unwinding the lights from Sebastian’s torso, pulling the plug from the socket. Not until they’re off does Sebastian see exactly how much heat those tiny lights put off. His body goes cold without them, but colder with this gap growing between him and Kurt.

“Are you, Master?” Sebastian asks when Kurt returns to untie the ropes. He’s speaking without permission, but there’s really nothing else he cares about that he’s in danger of losing tonight. “Are you going to replace me?”

“Oh, preppy,” Kurt says with a long sigh. “We…we live such disposable lives here…” Those first words sound like Kurt’s about to blow smoke up Sebastian’s ass, but he loops his arms around Sebastian’s neck and kisses the top of his head. “When you leave, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll do my job. That’s how I make money, but…I don’t think I’d ever be able to replace you. To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’d want to try.”

Sebastian nods. He’s sure that answer is meant to console him, but it makes him feel worse. He doesn’t know why the tears start. So much drama, so much stress, so much strain, mentally and physically – he just gets so Goddamned sad all of a sudden. And they’re not quiet tears, either, not ones he can hide. They come with heaving sobs that choke him, leave him struggling desperately for gasps of air. Inside his head, where his psyche lingers on the outskirts of that quiet, fuzzy place he’d been searching for all night, his entire universe starts to disintegrate.

“Okay, baby, you’re dropping,” Kurt says, working quickly to remove the ropes around Sebastian’s thighs. “Don’t you worry. This happens every once in a while. God, it must have been a long night for you, wasn’t it? I’ll have you out of this in a second, and then we’ll get you in the shower. Okay? Does that sound nice? I bet it does. It’ll be alright. You just go ahead and cry, baby. I’ll take care of you. It’ll be okay…I promise.”

Kurt tosses the ropes to the ground, catching Sebastian when he falls forward.

“I gotcha,” Kurt murmurs, pushing Sebastian upright again, supporting his weight. “Can you stand, baby? Can you move your legs and get on your feet?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer. He can’t. The sobs in his throat aren’t ready to let him speak; Kurt seems to know that. He maneuvers Sebastian’s legs one at a time out from under him, unbending them, rubbing them to get the blood flowing back. He places Sebastian’s feet flat on the floor and helps him stand. Sebastian’s legs knock together at the knees, and he continues to sob. He tries to stop crying, stop shaking. He tries, but he has no control. He can’t make his legs do anything. He can’t muffle his convulsive weeping, can’t close his mouth and silence it. This full-body sadness has completely taken over. Sebastian doesn’t like it, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

“It’s alright,” Kurt says in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay. Just take a step…good…take another step…excellent…we’ll get you there, preppy. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Kurt’s words find their way inside Sebastian’s chest and wrap around his heart, but they also start to squeeze. That’s what this is all about. Kurt’s not going to leave Sebastian. Eventually, Sebastian will leave Kurt, and where that has _always_ bothered Sebastian, he was able to ignore it. It seems to be more inevitable now, with the year coming to a close and the end of school flying at him fast. It’s more than a blip on the horizon. It’s a finish line in his sights, with the tape pulled tight, waiting for him to cross.

Kurt walks Sebastian through the house and into his bedroom.

“There we go, preppy,” Kurt says in an upbeat voice. “You can make it. I know you can. We’re almost at the finish.”

That comment makes Sebastian snap. He wails, clutching on to Kurt as if his life depends on it.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt coos, pausing to let Sebastian hold him. “It’s okay, baby. It really is okay.” Sebastian crushes Kurt against him, engulfing him, holding him as if afraid Kurt would disappear the moment he left Sebastian’s arms. “Let’s get you in the shower, baby. Hmm? Okay? You’ll feel a whole lot better after a nice hot shower. I promise.”

Kurt starts to move, but Sebastian wraps him up tighter.

“No,” Sebastian mumbles. “No…don’t go…”

“Sebastian,” Kurt says, stroking up and down his sub’s arms. “Do you trust me?”

Sebastian’s next breath in is a ragged sigh.

“Yes, Master,” he mutters miserably.

“Good,” Kurt says. “Then let’s go. Just keep moving. If you stay in one place, you won’t ever want to move again.”

Sebastian nods. He knows that Kurt’s right, about more than just this.

Kurt helps Sebastian into the shower of his master bathroom, and turns the water on hot.

“Now, you just wait here a second,” Kurt says. “I’m going to get undressed…” which he does while he talks, tearing off his shirt and jeans, and stepping into the shower with Sebastian before he even finishes what he’s saying.  

Sebastian feels the small cuts and pinpricks on his body when the hot water hits his skin, but he doesn’t hiss. To say that he doesn’t have the energy to respond to the pain would be an understatement. It just doesn’t matter. When Kurt lathers up a wash cloth, and the soap gets into the cuts, stinging more, Sebastian still doesn’t respond. Kurt washes his hair, taking extra time to work the shampoo into Sebastian’s scalp, then he rinses him, fingers carding through the strands until the water runs clean. Kurt massages Sebastian’s back with an almond-smelling lotion that heats at Kurt’s touch. Sebastian has never had this, someone take care of him this way – bathe his sadness away, pamper him when he’s in pain with these types of touches.

He’s ashamed to think that he might have believed Kurt wasn’t capable of this, that it wasn’t part of what their relationship is about. Just another thing about being a dominant and a submissive that Sebastian doesn’t understand.

He wishes he had the wherewithal to enjoy it more, but it’s something he’ll never forget.

“There,” Kurt says, when we he reaches Sebastian’s ankle, loosening the tendons, and stands back up, “I think you’re ready. Or do you want another few minutes?”

“No, Master,” Sebastian says. “I really want to go to sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Kurt says, turning off the water. “I think sleep is probably the best thing for you right now.”

 _Yeah_ , Sebastian thinks, _because sleeping on the cold, hard ground is going to be so refreshing._ But like the other pain, he doesn’t care. He just wants the sad to go away.

Kurt dries Sebastian off with his own huge, fluffy bath sheet. It’s warm and soft, and like everything that has ever touched Kurt’s skin, it smells like Kurt. He treats Sebastian’s cigarette burns with aloe, and then covers the rest of his sub in his own coconut milk and vanilla body lotion, drying his cheeks with gentle pats from his towel so he can properly moisturize his face. Kurt stares into Sebastian’s lowered gaze, hoping for a smile – that cocky smirk that Sebastian wears even when he shouldn’t, the one that defies all of Kurt’s rules.

But it’s gone for now.

Kurt leads Sebastian to bed, pulling back the covers, and Sebastian stands with his head bowed, waiting for Kurt to tell him where he’ll be sleeping. But Kurt climbs on the mattress and takes his hand, tugging it commandingly.

“You’ll sleep here with me,” Kurt says, watching Sebastian climb sheepishly under the covers. “You were a good boy telling me what I wanted to know. What Elliott did was…” Kurt stops with a groan. He’s not going to do that. He’s not going to badmouth Elliott. He might be angry now, but he’ll regret it later if he does. He has to keep the balance of power, even if he wants more than anything to rip Elliott’s dick off. “Well, you were a good boy. You get to keep your spot on the bed.”

“Thank you, Master,” Sebastian says, feeling that small gesture bring the tears back. He wants to hit himself over the head with a hammer, knock himself out and wake up in a week when, hopefully, his balls will have grown back.

Kurt pulls Sebastian toward him, patting a spot on his chest to rest his head against, and Sebastian does, glad to have this closeness with his Dom after hours of being _a tree_ , of the two of them being apart, even if he is embarrassing the shit out of himself.

“What can I do for you, preppy?” Kurt asks, fingers undoing the knots in Sebastian’s damp hair with every stroke, undoing the knots in his life with every breath. “Do you need something to eat? Something to drink? What do you want?”

Sebastian sniffles, disgusted with himself for soaking Kurt’s skin in tears, feeling like a bitch for whimpering. He hates his voice right now, how he sounds like a stupid little kid, but he can’t not answer Kurt. He can’t.

“You,” Sebastian replies. His lip trembles slightly, and he takes a sharp breath in through his nose to stop it. “I just…I just want you, Master. I want you, and I…I want to stop feeling like I’m not good enough...”

It stays open-ended because, in many ways, it doesn’t have an ending. Sebastian means it about so many things. He has so many insecurities that he doesn’t show, so many spots in his timeline that he’s unsure of. But those other things, he considers them incidental since the only person who has to care about them is himself. They only concern him, so he makes it a point not to care about them too much. He tries to leave the past to the past and keep moving forward. No reason to linger on regrets and losses that he can’t go back and fix.

But this thing he has with Kurt, that’s different. _Kurt_ is different. Sebastian needs Kurt to care about him, and about his problems.

He needs Kurt, period.

“What are you even talking about?” Kurt says with an incredulous laugh. “I mean, have you _seen_ yourself lately? Taken a good hard look? And I’m not even talking about the fact that you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. Jesus Christ, preppy! When I was your age, I was such a…” His mouth halts around the word _loser_. A Lima Loser. Kurt promised himself a long time ago that he would never call himself that ever again. He can’t break that promise now, or he’ll lose his personal credibility, and everything else he says to Sebastian will mean nothing. “I was so far in the closet, you’d need a bloodhound, a flashlight, and a shovel to fucking find me. But you, you walk around like you own everything, and that’s not the money talking. That’s _you_. So, now, you gotta stop talkin’ like that.” Kurt holds his sub tighter when he feels a new wave of tears fall onto his chest. “Because you _are_ good enough, baby. You are. At so many things. You’re amazing. What’s this shit about you not being good enough? Who… _who the hell told you that_?” Kurt finds himself getting angry, and not only on Sebastian’s behalf. Angry because he realizes exactly who told Sebastian that, and it’s Kurt’s fault. Kurt was the one who let him in, let him walk on into his house and take his sub’s sense of self away. “You just…you just stop with that, okay? Just…just stop…”

Kurt chokes up. _He_ did this. He broke down this beautiful, headstrong boy, and now he needs to hold him together. He wishes he could come up with something better, something more eloquent and convincing to say, but he hasn’t needed to comfort anyone in a while, and the last person he did…well, Blaine needed a lot of self-esteem boosting. When Kurt thinks of all those words wasted, words he can’t think of using now to help Sebastian, he’s almost tempted to call the fucker up so he can scream obscenities and then hang up on him.

It takes nearly an hour for Sebastian to quiet down in Kurt’s arms. Kurt stays awake with him, shushing him, stroking his hair, thinking the night over while he waits for Sebastian to fall asleep. Eventually, the exhaustion of dropping overwhelms Sebastian, and when it does, he goes from shuddering sobs to _out like a light_ in a blink. Kurt waits till he hears his sub snore softly against his chest, then he waits a moment longer. Carefully, he relocates Sebastian, laying his head down on a pillow and pulling his comforter up over his shoulders. Kurt slips out of bed and throws on some clothes – a pair of sleep pants draped over a chair and a long sleeve thermal Henley from Sebastian’s bottom drawer - grabs his phone and his cloves, and walks out into the hall.

Sebastian starts to wake the second Kurt’s out of bed, when his head hits the static, cool pillow.

He hears Kurt in the living room, putting on his boots and a coat (probably Sebastian’s peacoat that Kurt seems to love, which Sebastian has considered leaving behind for him when he leaves for New York), and Sebastian knows that Kurt’s stepping outside for a smoke. He doesn’t want Kurt to leave him, even for a second. But he also feels like if he moves, tries to get out of bed, he’ll cry again, and he can’t do that either. Kurt said it was okay, he said that it happens, but to Sebastian, it’s unsettling. Humiliating. Breaking down like that, crying his eyes out. Maybe for some people it’s cathartic, but for him, it feels like weakness. Kurt always tells him that subs are strong, that _he’s_ strong. How can he be strong and feel so weak at the same time?

Sebastian hears Kurt walk outside and close the door behind him. He paces back and forth, the thick soles of his boots crunching the snow. Sebastian recognizes the sound of Kurt lighting his cigarette, taking a drag, and blowing smoke into the air. He knows that sound like he knows the timbre of his Dom’s voice, so much a part of him and what he does every day. Sebastian hears Kurt unlock his phone screen, the musical tone so out of place with his other preprogrammed rings and alert tones, mostly hard rock and heavy metal, except for his dad’s ring, which is some song by the Oak Ridge Boys.

In the quiet of the night, Sebastian clearly hears Lady Gaga’s _Marry the Night_ playing over Kurt’s phone - Elliott’s ringback song.

“Hey, Ells. We need to talk.”

Sebastian hears this opening, and his heart starts to climb out of his chest.

“You need to lay off my sub, and I mean, like yesterday…No, he didn’t tattle the minute you left. He _wouldn’t_ tell me. I had to fuckin’ burn it out of him, but unlike _some_ people, he told me in the end because he obeys me…Yeah…very funny. You listen to me, Elliott, and you listen to me really good. I love you. I do. I love you so fucking much, always have, always will, but Sebastian…he’s a kid. A sweet kid. A good kid, and he’s mine. You get me? Mine! And I…no, I…just…back the fuck off! …What do you have against me being happy, huh?...Well, he’s gonna be gone in a couple of months, so you win, right? You get me _all_ to yourself. That’s all you care about, right? You, not me?...No, that’s _exactly_ what you meant…You don’t have to like him, alright, but if you can’t play nice, then don’t play at all. You get me?”

Sebastian doesn’t know if Elliott cuts off the call or if Kurt does, but Kurt stomps on the ground, cursing with every step. _“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! Goddamned motherfucker!”_ Sebastian hears Kurt stomp his way towards the door, muttering underneath his breath, grumbling about time and happiness and something about beer. He quiets down after the door is locked behind him and he takes off his boots, heading back to the bedroom on bare feet. Kurt sheds his clothes by the side of the bed, and climbs underneath the covers, shivering with cold and adrenaline, searching out Sebastian’s body for warmth. Sebastian obliges, creeping across the mattress and wrapping around Kurt’s body.

“You should be asleep,” Kurt scolds him gently, more upset by what Sebastian might have heard than the fact that he’s still awake.

“You left me, Master,” Sebastian says, hoping it sounds like a statement and not like a whine.

“I didn’t go far,” Kurt sighs into Sebastian’s hair. “I just had to handle something.”

They fall silent, but both men can hear the other thinking.

“You didn’t have to do that, Master,” Sebastian says. He was relieved that Kurt took him seriously, and that he would barrel into the fray - against his best friend in the world, no less - in Sebastian’s defense. But Sebastian doesn’t want to come between them, not really. As much as Sebastian doesn’t like it, Kurt needs Elliott. Elliott’s been around way longer than he has. He’s stood by Kurt through some horrible shit. What Sebastian and Kurt has, for however long they have it, should not be the thing that jeopardizes that friendship. Sebastian – as Kurt’s submissive or his lover - doesn’t have the right.

Besides, Sebastian can’t shake the feeling that he may have just made everything between him and Elliott one-hundred-and-ten percent worse.

“Well, whether I did or didn’t it’s done,” Kurt says, conflicted. “So, get some sleep, baby. You need it.” Kurt breathes out, his hand returning to Sebastian’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “You were a good boy tonight, preppy. _My_ good boy. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Master,” Sebastian says, slipping off to sleep with Kurt’s praise tolling in his ears, the words wiping away Elliott’s remarks from earlier, making the slate clean between Dom and sub again.


	15. A Dalton Boy Snowed in for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is alone for Christmas. He hates being alone on Christmas. Much of it is unavoidable, but in one important way, he only has himself to blame. He did the right thing and told his sub to go home for Christmas...but now, he's regretting it. Luckily, his sub isn't always that good at obeying orders.
> 
> Written for the Hummel Holidays prompt 'snow', and comes later in the series.
> 
> A/N: A lot of fic writers might not have written a scene like this, but I think it's important to show that Kurt is human, he has some vulnerabilities. He's broken. He's far from perfect. Being a Dom is where he finds control in his life, but there are some areas where he needs comforting. It's also important to show that in many ways Sebastian isn't 100% a sub. He's still a cocky, snarky teenager. I also think this shows that Kurt has a bit of a switch side to him, something that has been vaguely alluded to in other chapters.

Kurt hates snow.

He doesn’t mind it so much when it isn’t fucking with his plans, but tonight, at 11:17 p.m. on Christmas Eve, he can’t stand it.

Snow has his father stranded at the airport in Baltimore, where he was meeting with a specialist about issues with his heart. Since his father doesn’t seem to realize that his cell phone needs to be plugged in every night so the battery doesn’t drain, and the weather has knocked out land lines, Kurt’s not entirely sure if that appointment went well.

Snow has Elliott stuck in New Jersey with his folks over Christmas, even though he promised, he _promised_ he’d be back in time for Kurt’s annual Single Losers Christmas Feast.

Snow even has his club locked up for the night. Kurt usually keeps it open and throws one of the hottest, most blasphemous Christmas Eve parties in Ohio, but some fuck up with the city’s power grid knocked out ten blocks and has his club on lockdown.

And his sub – well, his sub’s a teenager, a _rich_ teenager, spending Christmas with his parents in Westerville, the way he should be. Kurt knows that Sebastian would have stayed if he asked him, but Kurt told him he should go. This might be the last Christmas that Sebastian and his parents spend together for a while, seeing as Sebastian’s graduating soon. Ordering Sebastian to go was the right thing to do.

_Why? Why the fuck did he do the right thing?_

This will be the first Christmas that Kurt is going to spend alone since college. Kurt does fine on his own. He’s always been independent, even as a child. But Christmas was his and his mother’s time. It was _their_ holiday, and after she died, he did everything he could not to be alone during Christmas - volunteering when he was in high school, throwing himself into his work when he got to college, even spending time at the houses of some questionable men as he got older. But now, he has no one to turn to. He’d seriously consider going down to the bar a few blocks away if not for the fact that it’s about 30 degrees below, and he’s not eager to freeze his balls off.

He retires to his couch with a bottle of whiskey, a pack of cloves, and his cell phone, just in case the weather clears an inch and someone’s able to make it through.

Halfway through the bottle and ten minutes before he decides to pack it in, his cell phone, sitting on his right knee, vibrates.

_From: Sebastian_

_Good morning, Master. Merry Christmas._

Kurt reads the message and chuckles. So formal. So obedient. Sebastian’s trying so hard to be a good submissive.

God, Kurt wishes he wouldn’t, not right now. And he wishes he wasn’t at home. Westerville’s only 24 short minutes away, but Kurt would be a fool to hop in his car and drive out there.

He’d be a fool to think he’s welcome in Sebastian’s world.

God, when did he become so fucking pathetic?

_From: Kurt_

_Merry Christmas. Now, go to sleep so you can have fun with your folks, drink eggnog, sing carols, whatever you do over there._

_From: Sebastian_

_I just wanted to make sure you’re alright._

_From: Kurt_

_I’m fine, preppy._

_From: Sebastian_

_You don’t sound fine to me, Master._

_From: Kurt_

_What do you mean I don’t sound fine? We’re texting! How do you know what the fuck I sound like?_

_From: Sebastian_

_I just do._

_From: Kurt_

_Well, obviously your Spidey-sense or whatever is malfunctioning because I’m having a grand old time._

_From: Sebastian_

_Don’t bullshit me, Kurt._

Kurt sits up on his couch, almost kicking over his bottle of liquor, growling in annoyance at his smart ass sub. _Careful what you wish for,_ Kurt thinks _._

_From: Kurt_

_Fuck off! What the fuck do you want from me, preppy?_

Sebastian doesn’t text back immediately, and Kurt thinks he might have succeeded in shutting him down. Did Kurt _want_ to do that? Well, whatever. Texting Sebastian was eating into his important sulking time anyway.

_From: Sebastian_

_I want you to answer me something._

Kurt has every intention of texting _no_ , but instead he texts:

_From: Kurt_

_What?_

_From: Sebastian_

_If you could have one thing right now, what would it be?_

Kurt looks at the message, unsure if he should answer. Why the fuck did Sebastian want to know anyway? They’d already exchanged presents. There wasn’t anything Kurt needed.

There’s something he wants, but he’ll be damned if he’ll admit it.

_From: Kurt_

_Nothing._

_From: Sebastian_

_I don’t believe you._

_From: Kurt_

_Frankly, I don’t give a fuck what you believe. You’re annoying as shit, do you know that?_

_From: Sebastian_

_I know, but you’re still fucking me, so you’re obviously into that._

Kurt shakes his head. He doesn’t know if he’s more annoyed at Sebastian or at himself for being in this situation. This isn’t the way Kurt operates. He’s not in high school anymore. He doesn’t need this weak-ass drama. He should shut off his phone and shut Sebastian out until after the holidays. That way he can get thoroughly drunk, pass out, and get back to business after his hangover clears.

But as he sits with his thumb over the off button, Kurt can’t do it.

He doesn’t want to push Sebastian that far away.

_From: Kurt_

_Fine, I have an answer, but it’s not worth telling because it’s highly unrealistic._

_From: Sebastian_

_Tell me anyway. I’m bored._

_From: Kurt_

_Fine._

Kurt’s hands start to shake as he sends Sebastian a reply.

_From: Kurt_

_If I could have one thing, anything, I’d have my mom back, okay?_

_From: Kurt_

_Because we were always together at Christmas, and I miss her like crazy, and it fucking sucks being alone._

_From: Kurt_

_You know, I’m alone most of the time. I live alone. I’m fine on my own, but…_

_From: Kurt_

_You’re not supposed to be alone on Christmas. You know?_

Kurt picks up a napkin off the coffee table and wipes his nose, his upper lip trembling as much as his hands. Kurt doesn’t expect an answer right away. He sent his texts rapid fire. But when he _does_ receive a message back, he’s disappointed by the two word response he gets.

_From: Sebastian_

_I know_

Those two words are the last Sebastian sends. Kurt waits for another text, for a call, for _anything_ , but thirty minutes later, he gets nothing, and he tosses his phone across the couch.

“Fuck!” he curses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Well, there I go again, just fucking shit up!” He wipes a few trailing tears from his eyes and chuckles cruelly at himself. “He didn’t need to know all that shit, did he? Elliott’s right. Why am I getting all deep with this kid? He doesn’t want any of that. Stupid!” He knocks on his forehead with his fist. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

_Knock-knock-knock-knock._

Kurt’s head pops up. He’s about to call out, “Who’s there?” but decides against it. It’s 1:54 in the fucking morning! Who the hell’s going to be at his door?

Rubbing his sore forehead, he waits in the silence. Maybe he didn’t actually hear…no, he didn’t hear…there’s no one at his…

_Knock-knock-knock-knock._

Kurt blinks in surprise. Okay, _that_ he definitely heard, but it’s coming from low on the door, about knee level, so the likelihood is it’s a dog, searching for shelter, wagging its tail against the wood.

Kurt stands, reaching for his cloves and his bottle, ready to take both with him to bed, when he hears a shaky voice say, “Master?”

Kurt looks left and right, alone in the dark, sure he’s hearing things. This is a joke – his fuzzy brain playing tricks on him.

“M-master, please. It’s c-cold out here.”

“Sebastian?” Kurt drops his cloves and leaves the bottle. “Is that really you?” He walks to the door slowly, not convinced it won’t be a dog when he opens it and looks outside. But Kurt opens the door and there his is, his sub, kneeling in the snow on his doorstep, head bowed, shivering beneath his heavy wool coat. “Sebastian, what…what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone, Master,” Sebastian answers, not looking up. “I know I’m not…” He stops, deciding four words too late that mentioning Kurt’s mom probably isn’t the best idea. “I might not be the person you want, Master,” Sebastian says, evenly, softly, “but, do you think, I’ll do instead? Just this once?”

Kurt crosses his arms, rubbing his skin with his hands to warm up. Sebastian has on a coat, but the snow has to be soaking through his pants, and if it’s anywhere near as cold as the air, Kurt’s sub has to be freezing.

“What about your parents?” Kurt asks, clenching his teeth tight to stop them from chattering, pretending like he’s in no hurry, like they could stand in this doorway and talk all morning.

“It’s j-just one Christmas, M-master,” Sebastian says. “I t-told them…” He stutters to another stop. He doesn’t want Kurt to think that he’s told his folks about their relationship, which he has, but not entirely. He hasn’t gone into details, but he _has_ told them about Kurt. He’s not ready to admit that to Kurt though. Sebastian realizes that telling his parents about Kurt was playing into a fantasy, one he has about this relationship. He doesn’t want that fantasy shot down. “I t-told them th-that I had someone important to see, M-master. Th-they said they understood.”

“That’s nice of them,” Kurt says, surprised. From what he remembers of rich, trust fund kids, their parents are rarely reasonable about things like holidays or special occasions that they can use for appearances. But he doesn’t know much about Sebastian’s parents. They might be the exceptions to the rules. It would be nice. “But what if I say no? What if I tell you that you don’t have permission to come inside?”

“Th-then I’ll stay r-right here,” Sebastian says, his teeth chattering hard, “s-so you still w-won’t b-be alone. B-because n-no one should be alone, Master. N-not on Christmas.”

Kurt looks at Sebastian and nods, but he can’t think of anything else he wants to say, no more games he wants to play. This is what he wanted – Sebastian here so he wouldn’t be alone. All he has to do is reach out and touch him. Grab hold of him and pull him inside.

So why isn’t he?

Kurt grabs Sebastian’s collar, tugging him through the door, heaving him over the threshold before Sebastian can make it to his feet. But once he’s inside with the door slammed shut behind him and the cold night banished, Kurt shoves Sebastian up against the wall and kisses him – presses his body up against him, rakes his fingers through his hair and his nails over his scalp. Kurt holds him captive so there’s nowhere he can go, so that he can’t escape, can’t change his mind, can’t jump back in his car and leave.

Kurt doesn’t want to let Sebastian go before he absolutely has to.

“What do you want to do first, Master?” Sebastian whispers between kisses. “What do you want to do to me?”

“You know, subs don’t normally ask that question with such confidence,” Kurt chuckles.

“Well, has anything between us ever been normal, Master?” Sebastian asks, grabbing Kurt’s shirt above the waist of his jeans and sliding it up, not asking for his Dom’s permission. Right now, Kurt’s not making Sebastian ask. He wants Sebastian to have a little control.

He wants Sebastian to surprise him.

“What do you want, Master?” Sebastian asks, begging as Kurt begins to rut against him. “Tell me…I’ll do anything…anything…”

“Just…make love to me?”

Kurt locks his mouth over Sebastian’s, and Sebastian stops breathing, but not because of Kurt’s kiss.

Because of his words.

They’ve had sex dozens of times, in dozens of different ways and different places.

Never once has Kurt ever called it _making love_.

Even if Kurt takes it back tomorrow, which he could very well do, even if he denies it, or he never says it again, Sebastian has this now.

Sebastian will have tonight.

“Whatever you want, Master” - Sebastian picks Kurt up by the rear and carries him to his room. And Kurt lets him, too wrapped up in kissing Sebastian, pulling open his coat and sucking hickeys on to his neck, to object - “Whatever you want.”


	16. A Dalton Boy Finding Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sebastian shows up to Kurt's house early Christmas morning, Kurt treats himself to a little indulgence in the arms of his sub.
> 
> The second part to 'A Dalton Boy Snowed in for Christmas'.

Kurt had told Sebastian once during an impromptu session that his two favorite forms of torture were hot and sharp – and they are, especially heat. Kurt adores heat play in all forms, but mostly wax play. He loves melted candle wax on skin, the contrasting colored paraffin forming like scabs, overlapping drips hardening into miniature mountain chains. He loves the hiss that comes from a sub’s mouth when he pours hot wax on him. He loves dripping it on himself, the initial flash of too much, followed by the raw need, wanting more, even if more is dangerous, even if more can possibly do irreversible damage.

Even if more could scar you for life.

The way Sebastian has done to him.

But Sebastian’s freezing cold skin against Kurt’s hot flesh has him second guessing himself.

Again, the way Sebastian has done to him.

There’s an erotic chill to the way Sebastian’s frigid, shaking fingers undress Kurt, peeling away his clothes with a speed that borders on urgency. His cold knee nudging against Kurt’s crotch as he climbs over his Dom to kiss him makes Kurt tremble outside of his control; Sebastian’s shivering wet stomach making Kurt hunger to hold him when he rolls Sebastian onto his back, pinning him to the mattress, and keeping him still with the weight of his body. But probably the most sensual part of mingling Kurt’s hot skin with Sebastian’s cold is the way their temperatures even out the longer they’re pressed together - the iciness of Sebastian’s body leeching the heat from Kurt’s, warming him up; Kurt’s body giving him that heat freely.

They find an equilibrium without meaning to. Nature takes over and decides that this needs to happen, that they are part in the same.

That they belong together.

It’s simple science. Kurt knows this. The concept of cold doesn’t exist, only less heat, and more heat will always want to travel to it. Kurt suddenly remembers this because the cynic inside him warns him not to romanticize this encounter, not to make more out of it than it is, to forget that he ever said anything about _making love_ to begin with.

He’s heard this warning before and he’s bound himself to it, the way his head tells him he should do to Sebastian – tie him down, immobilize him, don’t let him change the dynamic, don’t allow him steal Kurt’s control.

But this time, Kurt doesn’t listen. He finds a way to tune it out, focusing on Sebastian’s lips as they travel across his skin, his tongue tracing the lines of his tattoos and the scars hidden underneath, erasing them by leaving scars of his own. Kurt feels them tear like shards into his skin, carving out parts of him. But unlike the man whose abuse and betrayal caused Kurt to make those original marks, Sebastian adds something of himself to every single one - a whisper, a kiss, a word, uttering Kurt’s name, or the way he calls him _Master_ with such a want to be had, to be used, to be owned, however Kurt sees fit. Yes, Sebastian is eager to submit to Kurt, but in ways that go beyond Kurt’s definition of submission. It’s not about the physical, being bound, rendered helpless; it’s about the vulnerability, the trust. It’s about the part of being in a “relationship” that Kurt hasn’t had the guts to open himself up to yet. His other subs (when he’s had them) have been vulnerable for him, have trusted him, and he’s earned that trust, but he wasn’t vulnerable back. He didn’t have to be. It wasn’t what he was there for.

But he’s vulnerable with Sebastian.

He trusts Sebastian.

He might even love Sebastian.

None of that matters now. He has to shove it to the bottom of the pile, forget that it exists, but that’s nearly impossible when, on top of that pile, sits this boy.

Except, Sebastian’s not really a boy. Not entirely. He’s eighteen. That qualifies him as a man. Kurt wouldn’t be entertaining any of this otherwise. He’s not a pedophile. He feels like a cradle robber, though, but only a little. The last time Kurt had an eighteen-year-old between his legs before Sebastian, Kurt was closer to eighteen himself.

It was hot, it was sweet, it was everything it should have been at that age…but he doesn’t remember it being half this good.

“Oh, Kurt…oh, God…”

Sebastian’s moan as he kisses down Kurt’s body, getting off on getting Kurt off, hits Kurt straight in the stomach and spins like a rotor, fast and tight. The sound of a man moaning has always been one of Kurt’s biggest turn-ons, but Sebastian moaning is orgasm material all its own. It’s equal parts sin and innocence, not because of how sexual his little schoolboy is, but because of _who_ he is. He’s still in high school, still an honors student, still that smart aleck little fuck who showed up at Kurt’s club out of the blue and turned his entire world to shit…in a good way. Kurt’s usually not a huge fan of surprises, not where his whole life is concerned, but Sebastian dropping into Kurt’s life has turned out to be one of the better ones.

There’s still so much teenaged boy in Sebastian. In many ways, he’s just playing with the adults. But when they’re in Kurt’s room together, Sebastian ages a few years, and Kurt regresses. Like the temperatures of their bodies trying to find balance, they reach a middle ground. Kurt doesn’t have to perform. He doesn’t have to _be_ anybody. He can give up the ego, dispel the personality. He can sweat, he can moan, he can pull his own hair, touch his own body, and be a heaving mess. He can talk, he can laugh, he can be imperfect.

He can beg.

He can say please.

Sebastian hovers around Kurt’s hips, kissing lightly, nibbling marks over the bone, venturing too close to Kurt’s cock, throbbing from neglect, and as much as he wants Sebastian to take his time, he can’t stand the teasing.

“Sebastian…God, what are you waiting for? Don’t fuck around with it. Just…”

Sebastian laughs at his Dom’s impatience. He takes Kurt’s cock in his mouth, and that’s all Kurt needs for the heavy thoughts to float away.

“Oh, God,” Kurt gasps. He hears a bit of the eighteen-year-old boy he once was in that gasp. The boy who grew into a man who was virtually broken to pieces by his high school sweetheart. “Oh, Sebastian… _fuck_ …don’t stop…”

“No, Master,” Sebastian mumbles around the very tip. “I won’t stop…”

Sebastian sinks down, taking Kurt as far down his throat as he can. Kurt’s hands grab his hair, shoving as he thrusts up, but carefully, conscious and aware that this is just as much Sebastian as a body for his use. Sebastian is in a show choir – a nationally ranked show choir. Kurt’s not going to do anything that might ruin his voice.

These aren’t the kinds of concerns Kurt’s had for a lot of men he’s fucked. The subs who come to his club for the “honor” of being his for the night, he doesn’t make a point to know well. Nothing beyond boundaries and limits. But he knows Sebastian. Kurt knows Sebastian’s school schedule. He knows the grievances Sebastian has with a few guys on his lacrosse team. He knows Sebastian’s grades, for fuck’s sake. It was part of their reward system. He gave Sebastian something special for every A.

He should have guessed that Sebastian was a 5.0 student, poised to become valedictorian.

Kurt finally knows the story behind how Sebastian ended up at his club in the first place, and what happened after he got home, how the guys interrogated him for days after but he refused to tell them shit. Dom and sub had a good laugh over it. Sebastian even showed Kurt a picture of the little bastards who should have shown up.

Kurt couldn’t be more grateful that they didn’t.

“Come on, baby…” Kurt decides when he’s too close to the edge that he needs more than Sebastian’s mouth. “Come up here and turn over. I need to have at you.”

Sebastian chuckles, close to a girlish giggle, and even though Kurt rolls his eyes and groans, he does it fondly, because that’s what this is all about.

Letting guards down.

Being relaxed.

Having fun.

Entering Sebastian goes quick. There’s no hesitation on Sebastian’s part now. He doesn’t need to be coaxed to a place where he feels comfortable accepting Kurt inside his body. It happens with little effort, little need for preparation. With a dollop of lube and Kurt’s expert fingers, Sebastian opens up for him. Sebastian wants Kurt, every inch of him, the sour and the sweet. Kurt puts a condom on, the blunt tip of his cock presses against him, and a breath later, Kurt’s moving inside him, grabbing hold of his hips and pounding him hard. They’ve done slow before, but it doesn’t suit them as well as this. This could go on and on for hours, but it needs to be full out, 100% at every stroke, over and over till he has Sebastian clawing the pillows, climbing the headboard, and begging despite himself.

“ _God_ …every time with you is like the first time,” Kurt moans. “You’re so tight…so fuckin’ tight…you’re going to be the death of me.”

Kurt stops himself from saying anything else. He doesn’t want to slip, doesn’t want any of the emotions bouncing around his tongue uncertainly to fall from his lips when he’s not paying attention. Past this point, he doesn’t want to say something he’ll take back.

He doesn’t want to reveal something he’ll regret.

Sebastian’s been a victim to Kurt’s endurance before. He’s had Kurt in him, driving him to the brink, then pulling back, over and over and over again till he has to bite his fist to keep from crying. Kurt’s kept him at a simmer between ready to explode and almost ruined so many times. Kurt’s indulged in long, slow sex that Sebastian might have mistaken for love making if not for Kurt’s insistence that it wasn’t.

This is different, more desperate, so much expressed without Kurt speaking a word. Kurt rarely has to say anything for Sebastian to know how he feels. The pull of his lips, the glimmer in his eyes, the quirk of his eyebrow says so much. So does the way Kurt touches him, this time with one hand wrapped around Sebastian’s cock at the base, rendering all friction static, and another in his hair, fingers threading tight, pulling back till his neck bends, and Kurt bites down hard at the juncture.

“G-god,” Sebastian mutters, mouth dry from being forced open, breath shallow and staccato as it hits the air. “Oh, G-god… _shit_ …G-god…”

“God’s not here right now,” Kurt groans, each word accompanied by a thrust. “Would you mind moaning _my_ name please?”

“K-kurt…” Sebastian shifts quickly, knowing how much Kurt likes hearing his own name. “ _Fuck_ …K-kurt…M-master… _fuck_ …harder…”

And Kurt does fuck him harder, even though he shouldn’t. He does more for Sebastian than he does for any sub, but what he does for Sebastian, he does for himself, and he wants harder just as much as Sebastian wants it. He wants every stroke to burn into Sebastian the way Sebastian’s kisses shred his skin. He wants to never be a distant memory, that no matter what happens between them, when they might part in the future, anyone else Sebastian’s ever with will pale in comparison.

Sebastian might fuck a lot of guys in his life, a football team, an entire fucking platoon, but not a single one of them will ever own him the way Kurt has.

“Cum for me, baby,” Kurt says, moving the hand on Sebastian’s cock till it’s almost a blur, slicked up with pre-cum and sweat and his own saliva, the whole mixture so primal and animal. “Don’t make me wait. You know I don’t like to wait.”

“Gah…F-fuck, Kurt,” Sebastian moans, tripping over nearly saying _God_ again, stopping himself so Kurt won’t take his hand away. That’s one of Kurt’s crueler punishments for when Sebastian doesn’t obey the rules. Not a single spanking, flogging, or amount of time spent on his knees, even kneeling on rice, can rival a ruined orgasm, and Kurt knows how to make them devastating.

Kurt knows how to give, and he knows how to take away.

“Come on, baby,” Kurt growls. “Let me hear you. Say my name.”

Before Kurt, Sebastian used to think that was the lamest line in the history of lame lines uttered during the act of sex. But with Kurt, it’s not a line, and without asking, Sebastian thinks he knows why.

Everyone Kurt’s with calls him _Master_. It’s who he is, but being referred to that way constantly, only by a title, by strangers and people he’s sometimes intimate with, must be dehumanizing. Kurt can be master and commander of the universe, but take away his name, his _real_ name, and who is he?

“Kurt…” The first _Kurt_ comes out a low moan. “Kurt…Kurt…Kurt…” Sebastian starts to chant to the rhythm of the headboard smacking the wall, pinching his fingers a few times as Sebastian braces against it with hands splayed flat, turning himself into a stolid structure for Kurt to pound away at. The wet slapping of their bodies together is probably loud enough to be heard outside, and Kurt’s sure the headboard will leave a chip in his perfect paint job, but that can be fixed, and the neighbors, if they are listening, can suck it.

“Are you cumming?” Kurt murmurs, thigh cramping as he prolongs his own orgasm, holding off so he can cum with his sub. “Fuck it, Sebastian! What the fuck are you waiting for?”

Sebastian has a dozen snide remarks in mind – everything from the trite, “Now you know how it feels,” to the challenging, “What do you mean? I can do this all night,” with an _old man_ thrown in if he’s feeling extra masochistic, or he doesn’t care about having an orgasm any time in the next century.

But there comes a split second when he thinks that this could be the time to tell Kurt that he doesn’t want this to end, because he’s afraid it’ll go away and never come around again, in the hopes that Kurt will admit that it never has to end, because he wants this, too.

It’s more that thought than the sharp, repetitive slaps to his ass that has him spilling over Kurt’s hand, his pillow, his headboard, and the sheets, leaving everything marked.

 _Claimed_.

“Jesus Christ!” Kurt grumbles. “I should have anticipated that. _Fuck_! Oh well. You’ll clean it up for me tomorrow, won’t you preppy?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, sleepily following Kurt down to the bed when Kurt guides him, unwilling to pull them apart just yet. Kurt flips the soiled pillows over, forgetting about the drying cum for now.

“I think…” Sebastian pants, chest heaving so hard his ribs become sore, “I think your bed’s a mess now, Master.” Sebastian tugs at the corner of the fitted sheet, trying to stretch it over the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah, well, now it matches the assholes in it,” Kurt says, swatting Sebastian’s hand. Kurt grabs Sebastian by the wrist and loops his arm around his waist.

“You don’t want me to fix it?” Sebastian asks.

“It’s not something you can fix at the moment.” Kurt’s not talking about the sheet, but an exhausted Sebastian doesn’t catch on. “So, we’ll let it be, and see what we can do about it in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Sebastian yawns and holds Kurt tight.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, kissing the top of Sebastian’s head, and rocking him slightly, “yeah, I’m sure.”

 

 


	17. A Dalton Boy Marked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wants to add something to his list of limits that he'd like to try, something that he hopes will show his devotion on a much deeper level.
> 
> Warning for mention of underage drinking, minor blood play, mention of cutting (Kurt cutting a word into Sebastian's leg with a razor), and the sensation of a sub briefly retreating into sub space. Nothing graphic, romantic at the end.

Kurt sits with Sebastian’s bare leg lying across his lap, eyes scrutinizing his sub’s face, making positively sure that he understands exactly what it is he’s asking for.

Sebastian - naked, with his cock and balls in a ring, buzzed off of sex, a spanking, and a glass of Courvoisier - huffs impatiently. He doesn’t like waiting. He never has.

And besides, the anticipation is killing him.

“Oh, God!” Sebastian whines in a voice heavy with exhaustion. “Do it already. Please?”

Kurt jerks back, raises a scolding brow, and Sebastian withers. Probably not best to anger the man with the razor blade in his hand.

“Uh…sorry,” Sebastian says, his buzz nearly evaporating with a blink of Kurt’s severe blue eyes. “I am  _so_  sorry. I mean, please, Master? Please? You said that I could add things to my list of limits whenever I wanted.”

“I did,” Kurt says, relaxing against his headboard and twiddling the small, silver blade between his fingers. “But you really want to add  _this_?” Kurt looks at the skin of Sebastian’s thigh, tan and flawless, stretched out in front of him. He loves any opportunity to mark his sub up, to stake his claim, but this seems a little extreme for a new sub. Even though Kurt’s been dominating Sebastian pretty much every weekend since they met, and now a few nights during the week, Kurt still sees Sebastian as a newbie.  _His_  newbie, and Kurt’s very protective of him.

Kurt has no intention of damaging him.

“I do, Master,” Sebastian says with a determined nod.

“Do you want to tell me why?” Kurt asks, clamping a hand down on Sebastian’s knee, but not making a move to cut.

“I saw a few people do it down at the club, Master,” Sebastian says.

“A-ha.” Kurt traces random shapes on the skin of Sebastian’s inner thigh, digging in with the very corner of his nail, then scratching lightly with the blunt edge, the dichotomy making blood flood from Sebastian’s dizzy head to his cock, flushing it pink.

“A-and…and I’ve become so attached to your Wartenberg wheel, I thought” - Another hard scratch and Sebastian swallows, knowing that Kurt’s prepping him, giving him a taste – “this could be the next step.”

“For some people it is,” Kurt says, watching Sebastian react to his touch, the throaty gasps as he sucks in a breath; his scooting down the bed, moving closer in the hopes that his Dom will notice how his cock has begun to harden and bob when Kurt pushes his nails in.

“And if someone sees? The boys in the locker room? A coach? A teacher? Your folks?” It’s a question Kurt has started to ask more and more, with a thick note of worry underneath.

“What the fuck do I care who sees, Master?” Sebastian asks, trying to sound convincing, though it’s becoming exhausting always having to convince his Dom. But there’s something about Kurt’s concern that’s endearing. Sebastian doesn’t know if it would be quite the same being Kurt’s sub without it…especially now. “It’s my body. My decision. I’m a big boy.”

“Yes, you are,” Kurt purrs, eyes sliding down Sebastian’s body to his cock, growing larger, leaking on his abs. Kurt drives his nails in the soft skin behind Sebastian’s thigh. Sebastian moans, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder. His cock twitches, bucks up, and that seems to make Kurt’s decision for him.

“Alright,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “If that’s what you want. But you know what to say to make it stop.”

“I do, Master,” Sebastian says, mouthing the word out of Kurt’s line of sight without saying it – _butterfly_. His safeword. Though if Kurt keeps doing what he’s doing with his nails, moving higher and higher up his leg to the sensitive skin just below his balls, Sebastian won’t be able to do anything but moan.

Kurt doesn’t ease into it, though he rarely does anymore. He puts the sharp point of the blade to Sebastian’s skin and makes a cut. The slice stings, shocks Sebastian into hissing. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, but it’s not an unbearable pain. It would have been unbearable, Sebastian realizes, if Kurt had turned him down. Sebastian had seen the Doms at Kurt’s club do this, watched their subs obediently submit. Being marked up this way seemed like a much more extreme show of devotion, of trust, than just being bitten and scratched, even caned - a drastic, physical representation of what it means to be claimed.

If Kurt had said he didn’t want this, after everything they’d done together, it would have taken something away from their relationship, in Sebastian’s eyes anyway. Sebastian knows the mark will heal eventually, but he hopes, that of all the marks Kurt’s put on his skin, the bites and the scratches, the rug and cuff burns, this will last that little bit longer.

There’s a morbid sensuality to it, the smooth blade against his skin, but only held by Kurt’s hand, using his skill. The same skill that put those scars underneath Kurt’s tattoos. That connection doesn’t only make Sebastian infinitely hard, it hits him in the gut, makes him sentimentally sick. The idea of Kurt cutting into him kind of turns his stomach, but if he doesn’t focus on  _what’s_ happening and simply zeroes in on the sting, it pulls him from his head, helps him leave his body, delivers him to a place that transforms him into a sexually submissive creature at Kurt’s command while enfolding his mind in a place of safety.

But before he gets there entirely, Kurt hits a soft spot, and Sebastian’s leg starts to shake.

“How you doin’ there, preppy?” Kurt asks, letting up until Sebastian can answer.

“Green, Master,” Sebastian says, close to a whisper, somewhere on the scale of arousal between a sigh and a gasp, but only because he’s trying not to moan, trying not to cum, which seems unsanitary with a wound opened up within firing range.

“Good,” Kurt says. “Because I’m almost done…there.” Kurt pulls the blade away. He wipes it with a tissue, wraps it carefully, and sets it aside. “What do you think of that, preppy?”

Sebastian has no idea what Kurt could have carved into his thigh. It took him longer than Sebastian expected, but then again, Kurt is a perfectionist. From Sebastian’s limited experience, the way he’s seen couples play at the club, the Doms write words like  _slut, bitch,_  or  _whore_. Other Doms like to draw complicated geometric pictures, symbols, or flowers. Sebastian’s kind of hoping for the latter, though he’ll submit to whatever his Dom chooses for him.

He’s curious what his Dom thinks of him, how he’d want other Doms and subs to see him.

Sebastian opens his eyes and blinks down at the bloody mark on his leg. It’s a word – three words actually. In script Sebastian didn’t know could be so neat using a razor blade, Kurt has written a sentence.

_You are mine._

“Oh, God,” Sebastian mutters with his jaw hanging open slightly.

“You don’t like it, preppy?” Kurt says with a smirk, and a laugh that sounds more hurt than insulted. “Well, too bad. You asked for it. You wanted to be cut up. You…”

For the first time in their relationship, as Dom and sub, as quasi-sort-of-unexpressed-recent boyfriends, Sebastian silences Kurt with a kiss.

A kiss that becomes more.

A kiss that turns into Sebastian pushing Kurt back against the bed, crawling over his body, claiming something he’s not entirely sure is his to claim.

But Kurt lets Sebastian have it, because somewhere, deep down in his heart, Kurt belongs to Sebastian, too.

 


	18. A Dalton Boy with Secrets to Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In bed after sex with his Dom, Sebastian starts prying into Kurt’s privacy, specifically the meaning behind some of his tattoos. Sebastian feels he doesn’t know Kurt the way he should, the way he wants to. Plus, he’s considering the future...and how he’s going to keep Kurt a part of it.
> 
> This takes place in the future of this series, but also shows how the lines have begun to blur between them - between Dom and sub, and boyfriends (which they have yet to admit they are).
> 
> Warning for light angst, cigarette smoking, and sexual content.

Kneeling on Kurt’s violet bed sheets beside his Dom, Sebastian watches Kurt light his second post-sex clove. Kurt sucks on the end as he lights it, the flame from his Zippo burning the tip, turning it red, making it smoke. Then he flips the lid on the lighter shut and tosses it aside. Lying on his stomach with his arms over the edge of the mattress, he blows smoke out around the filter pinched between his lips. He doesn’t look back at Sebastian, but laughs to himself, knowing that his sub’s been staring, which he tends to do most of the time when Kurt’s naked in front of him.

For a teenaged boy with plenty of notches in his own bedpost to brag about, he acts an awful lot like a wide-eyed virgin around Kurt, and Kurt can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it.

All of the taboo and the stroke to his ego with none of the fear of ending up in jail.

Score.

“What’s up, preppy?” Kurt asks, taking a puff. “I can smell your mind working.”

“It’s amazing you can smell anything over those fucking death sticks,” Sebastian says, waving the smoke away when Kurt turns and blows a mouthful directly at him.

“You really mind?” Kurt asks in that cynical way he uses for rhetorical questions, but this time it sounds to Sebastian like he might care about the answer.

“Not really,” Sebastian shrugs. “Your lungs, right? Your business. Who cares if second-hand smoke kills about fifty thousand non-smokers every year?”

“Well, as long as you don’t mind,” Kurt says dryly. He turns away, and Sebastian gets the impression that the answer he gave was not the one Kurt wanted to hear. “So spill, preppy. What’s on your mind?”

Sebastian raises a hand and puts it on Kurt’s left shoulder, over the dark indigo star there - one that, from close up, looks like a window, containing the moon and the night sky. “Tell me about your tattoos,” Sebastian says boldly.

Kurt chuckles on his smoke. “I can’t, preppy.” He takes the cigarette from his lips and taps the ash into a purple glass ashtray on the floor.

“Why not?”

“Because” – Kurt puts the cigarette back between his lips – “some of them are too personal.”

“Okay,” Sebastian says, not sure if that’s a reason or an excuse, “can you tell me about the other ones?”

“You know, I didn’t dish out thousands of dollars on ink so I’d be forced to tell every nosy busybody a story. I’m not Hans Christian fucking Anderson,” Kurt says. “They’re for me. Besides” – another suck, another stream of smoke, another tap on the ashtray – “why the fuck do you want to know?”

Sebastian shrugs behind Kurt’s back. “Because I want to know.”

Kurt huffs, unsure what other response he was expecting. Kurt rarely gives anyone an uncluttered answer right out of the box, but neither does Sebastian, which is probably why Kurt finds himself opening up to Sebastian more and more. They’re both the same brand of jerk. They both play the same stupid, petty games.

“Alright, smart ass,” Kurt says with an irritated head shake, “why don’t we do this? _You_ tell _me_ what you think they mean.”

“And you’ll tell me if I’m right?”

Kurt gives Sebastian a non-committal head bob and takes another drag. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay…” Sebastian looks down Kurt’s body at the tattoos he can see. There’s another whole collection on Kurt’s chest, but the more significant ones seem to be on Kurt’s back, either because he had more space to put them there, or because then he doesn’t have to see them.

Sebastian has no clue where to start. Some of them seem self-explanatory, but he knows even those have a deeper meaning. He straddles the small of Kurt’s back. Leaning forward, he touches Kurt’s left forearm, starting with one of the more familiar, and probably the more dangerous, tattoos Kurt has.

“I know that Elizabeth is your mom’s name, but these designs…” Sebastian ghosts over the letters and symbols with his fingertips. He _um’s_ and _uh’s_ a few times, tripping over false starts. Kurt sighs impatiently, unwilling to wait for his sub to come up with a guess that won’t even be close. He rests his cigarette in his ashtray and grabs Sebastian’s hand.

“That” – Kurt takes Sebastian’s finger and puts it to his skin, tracing the lines and whorls that cover his arm – “was the pattern from the bodice of my mother’s wedding gown. The dress was destroyed sitting in my dad’s attic. Fuckin’ water damage. It was irreparable. So I salvaged a piece of the lace, took it to a guy I know in New York, and had him do this.”

“H-he did a wonderful job,” Sebastian stutters. He had thought when he first saw the tattoo that it looked like fabric, but he had no idea it would turn out to be so insanely personal. But then why would Kurt put a tattoo on his body if it wasn’t personal? Kurt doesn’t have the kinds of throwaway tattoos that drunk college students get – no cartoon characters, no kanji, no random animals, nothing just for the sake of having ink on his skin. Sebastian should have thought this through a bit better before he invaded Kurt’s privacy, but he still feels lost around Kurt. There’s so much about his Dom that he’s dying to know – like everything that’s happened to him up until the night they first met. But between the dominating and the fucking and the time they spend at the club, he doesn’t know how to ask.

How do you get close to a man who expresses affection with the sting of a riding crop?

The answer, Sebastian knows, is time. _Submission_ and time.

Sebastian has submission; it’s the time he’s running short on.

“And the shears?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt lets go of Sebastian’s finger and returns to his cigarette. He takes a draw before he gives Sebastian an answer, weighing whether or not he _wants_ to give one.

“I used to design clothes back in high school,” Kurt says, blowing a plume of smoke between pursed lips, the cloud of grey around them hanging heavy, filling the air with the sharp scent of spice. “I wanted to be a designer, actually.”

“Was that the calling your father thinks you missed?”

“Jesus Christ!” Kurt coughs a laugh around a drag from his clove. “Do you remember _everything_ I say, preppy, or do you write it down?”

“I have a 5.0 GPA,” Sebastian says with an audible eye roll. “My memory is eidetic.”

“Fair enough,” Kurt says. “And the answer to that is sort of. I had a lot of callings, left behind a lot of unrealized dreams.”

“Any you want to reveal?” Sebastian asks. “Or do I have to do some more guessing?”

“I’m not saying _anything_ ,” Kurt laughs, but with a stream of discomfort flowing underneath his words. “You can guess all you want. I don’t have to confirm a thing.”

“Fine,” Sebastian says, readjusting over Kurt’s ass. “Well, I’d say music is in there somewhere.” Sebastian touches the clefs underneath Kurt’s right ear. “Treble and bass, so you either play the piano, or you sing.”

Kurt rolls on to his back between Sebastian’s legs. He crosses his arms behind his head and looks up into his sub’s inquisitive eyes.

“I do both,” Kurt says. “But the clefs represent singing. I have a wide range. And before you ask, no. I’m not singing for you.” Kurt glances subconsciously at the wisps of cigarette smoke drifting around them. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Sebastian brushes off that setback.

“We’ll see,” he says, giving his Dom a smug wink. Kurt unwinds one arm and pinches Sebastian on the inner thigh. It hurts like a bitch, but Sebastian doesn’t flinch. Kurt flips back over onto his stomach and crushes out his cigarette.

“Any other insights, preppy?” Kurt asks.

“The tree,” Sebastian says, eyeing the branches, the leaves blowing off on an unseen wind, as if meant to represent a day in autumn, “and the birds.”

“Mrrr!” Kurt makes a loud buzzer noise. “Not tonight. I’m not going into that tonight.”

“Okay,” Sebastian relents, “then this...” He puts a finger over a strange knot tattoo at the nape of Kurt’s neck, inked in varying shades of brown to look like wood. From a distance, Sebastian thought it was the face of a cat, but up close, it looks like a Celtic knot. “This weird, sort of feline looking…thingie.”

Kurt chuckles. “You’re close. It’s a Cat Knot of Independence.”

Sebastian nods. “This has something to do with Blaine, doesn’t it?”

“Yup,” Kurt says, staring down at the crushed cigarette, still burning, “but again, a story for another time.”

Sebastian travels down his Dom’s body, heading for his legs, and the massive thorny vines tattooed there.

“And these, I’d say you got these to protect you,” Sebastian guesses. He puts a hand over one, noticing how there are no blank spaces between the thorns. If the vines were real, the thorns would tear through his palm and fingers.

“I’ll give you that one, preppy,” Kurt says. “I got them to remind me not to give myself away so easily. If a man wants to be with me, he has to be willing to work at it, climb the vines…risk getting hurt.” Kurt chuckles ironically. “In fact, enjoying pain is probably a pre-requisite.”

“I enjoy pain, Master,” Sebastian says, humming along the gnarled branches. “And I’m not afraid of getting hurt.” He hears Kurt moan beneath his lips, and he smiles at the sweet sound of him getting through to Kurt, breaking through the defenses, making his way through the thorns. But as he slowly creeps up towards Kurt’s ass, his eyes catch sight of something on the outside of Kurt’s right hip that makes his smile fade. “What…what is this?” Sebastian squints down at a tattoo he swears he’s never seen before. He thought he knew every inch of Kurt’s body, every section of skin. He may not know what the tattoos mean, but he has them memorized – placement, color, lines, dots, and shading. This one seems to have come out of nowhere.

Sebastian vaguely remembers over a week ago Kurt having a square of gauze taped in about the same place. Sebastian hadn’t asked about it at the time, but Kurt offered that he’d run in to the corner of a table at the club, and Sebastian left it at that. But this tattoo was in the same place that bandage was, so the bandage had to be covering this. It’s a collage of different things - musical notes, a lacrosse stick, a white rose with the petals bleeding off, a half-eaten chocolate bar, a Porsche emblem, all wrapped up in a string of Christmas lights and placed in the center of a geometrically drawn heart.

A heart that’s shattered, or shatter _ing_.

This tattoo has more detail to it than some of Kurt’s other tattoos, way more whimsy, and in many ways, it’s much more heartbreaking.

It wasn’t just a new tattoo. It was _Sebastian’s_ tattoo.

“Why did you get this, Master?”

“Because I felt like it. Fuck!” Kurt reaches for his pack of cloves, ready to pull out another cigarette.

“I mean, why now?” Sebastian asks. With feather-light touches, he traces over the raised edges of the tattoo. “Why would you…why now?”

“Well, you’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” Kurt asks, taking out a cigarette and putting it to his lips without lighting it.

“N-no, Master,” Sebastian says, even though he knows it’s a lie. It’s the answer he’d like to give. He wants it to be true. He’s been trying to figure out a way to make it true. “No, I…”

“Of course, you are, preppy.” Kurt puts the fresh cigarette back in its pack before he’s tempted to light it. “And do you know _why_ you’re going to leave? Because you’re smart. You have a future.”

Sebastian sighs in resignation. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion, but each time that follows becomes more heated than the last. Sebastian’s afraid that one day, too soon, it’ll turn into a screaming match, and Kurt will tell him to leave.

“You can come with me,” Sebastian says. It’s what he always says, and Kurt always shuts him down. But this time, Kurt just sort of melts into the bed.

“Yeah, right.”

“What? You want to go back. You said so yourself.”

“And what would I do when I got there, huh? Carry your books for you?”

“You could…” Sebastian searches for a selling point. He hadn’t given this part enough thought, figuring he would come up with something in time; time he didn’t have. Why does he even need to _sell_ New York? Kurt’s been there. He would be crazy not to want to go back. With the club scene and the night life, Kurt would fit in like a glove.

Then, in a snap, Sebastian comes up with something. “You could open another club.”

Kurt raises his head and flips over, gazing up at Sebastian with an expression that makes Sebastian wonder if Kurt hasn’t considered it, too. “Look, preppy, it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t have a fat trust fund like you do.”

“There’s ways around that,” Sebastian argues. “My dad’s into real estate. I could help you, if you would just…”

Kurt puts a hand on Sebastian’s thigh, squeezes gently, and Sebastian goes quiet.

“Sebastian, I know how things have been going with us, and I know what you’re thinking.” Kurt smiles wistfully. “I was your age, too, once, remember? I thought everything I wanted was possible. But you’re going to have to face the fact that things don’t work out between people like us, alright? And for all the cliché reasons – you’re too young, you have your whole life ahead of you, we’re too different, my life is here, blah, blah, blah.”

“But, you’re not listening. If you would---“

“Baby, just don’t. Alright?” Kurt pleads, looking from Sebastian’s eyes to his hand on Sebastian’s leg. “Don’t ruin what we have right now talking about things that can’t ever happen.”

“Come on, Kurt…”

Kurt hears his name on Sebastian’s lips, and his face snaps up, his expression hard and stern, but his eyes don’t match. They’re not angry.

They’re sad.

“If you can’t handle that, preppy,” Kurt says firmly, finally, “then you know where the door is.”

“No,” Sebastian says, his tone flat, utterly submissive, “I can handle that…Master.”

“We have an adult relationship here.” Kurt says. “I treat you like an adult, so act like an adult. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Master.”

Kurt nods, not in approval, but acceptance. He doesn’t want Sebastian to fight him on this, but a younger Kurt, still lurking somewhere inside his calloused, Dom exterior, wishes he would.

“So, you gonna let me up, or…” Kurt sits up, but Sebastian shoves hard on his shoulders, bringing Kurt down to the mattress.

“Not just yet, Master,” Sebastian says, infusing his usual snarkiness back into a voice that’s still obedient.

“You gonna hold me down, preppy?” Kurt smirks at the man straddling his hips, pinning him. “You think you can?”

“I wouldn’t ever, Master.” Sebastian leans down, lips whispering around the outline of Kurt’s hip, around the tattoo he got for him. “I want you to stay and be with me because you _want_ to be with me.” Sebastian gives the skin along the joint a long lick, making Kurt moan through his teeth. “I want you to let me hold you and kiss you because you want me to.” Sebastian looks up at Kurt through lowered lashes. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Master, because I want what you want. And I promise…I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing, preppy,” Kurt says with barely any command in his voice. “Make me forget that…that this is ever going to end.”

“As you wish, Master,” Sebastian says, returning to the same spot of sensitive skin and swirling his tongue around it. He lies over Kurt’s legs, his body keeping this gorgeous man, this untamable creature, trapped beneath him. He wants to concentrate his energy on Kurt, on giving him pleasure. He wants to clear his mind and enjoy this moment while he has it, with Kurt temporarily at his mercy. But in the back of his mind, thoughts intrude, bouncing in and out, of plans he’s been making for the past three years - moving to New York, going to college. Plans that always stopped there because that’s as far as he’d gotten. He isn’t secure on a major (his father wants him to major in business, but his parents don’t push, which he’s always appreciated). He doesn’t have a path picked out for down the road, after graduation. Theoretically, he can do whatever he wants, with or without college, but he doesn’t know what that is yet.

The only thing he knows he wants for sure is Kurt.

So with the taste of Kurt’s skin on his tongue, his cock heavy in his mouth, Sebastian starts concocting a new plan, one that isn’t about him. For the first time, he’s conspiring for someone else, maybe selfishly, but still. Aside from his own feelings, there’s untapped potential in his midst.

He sees a bright future ahead of him, and it isn’t his.

But in order to see it through, he has to disobey the one person he swore to serve.

That’s exactly what he’s doing, because this time, he’s making a plan for _Kurt_.

 


	19. A Dalton Boy Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Kurt turns down Sebastian’s suggestion that he should move to New York with him, Sebastian disobeys his Dom by coming up with a plan to get him there anyway. But first, Sebastian has to get everything ready, in the hopes that he’ll give Kurt no way or reason to say no.
> 
> Immediately follows “A Dalton Boy with Secrets to Tell”

“So, when am I going to see you again, preppy?” Kurt asks, sucking Sebastian’s lower lip into his mouth and biting down, but not as hard as usual. He runs hands with freshly painted nails – Zoya Raven black nails that Sebastian painted, from a bottle he had bought his Dom to replace the cheap-ass Wet ‘n Wild crap he normally wore – down Sebastian’s back and over his ass, getting his fill of his sub’s taut rear before he sends him on his way.

“Well,” Sebastian mutters with his lip still pinched between Kurt’s teeth, “I’m having dinner with my folks tomorrow night…”

“Boo,” Kurt cuts in, abandoning Sebastian’s lip to nibble on his chin.

“You’re more than welcome to come, Master,” Sebastian says, going in for a deeper kiss.

“Pass,” Kurt says with a smile before Sebastian bends Kurt back and captures his mouth.

“Invitation's open, Master,” Sebastian whispers, rutting lightly against his Dom’s crotch before he claims another kiss. “I think they’d like to meet you.”

“Mmm,” Kurt hums at the constant pressure of his sub’s erection passing over his own. “Yeah, but… _mmm_ …I don’t exactly _do_ parents, or dinners, or…you know...”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sebastian remarks, showing his contempt for his Dom’s excuses without so many words. “But you’d do _me_ if I came over, Master.”

“Fuck yeah,” Kurt breathes against Sebastian’s mouth. “Over and over,” he murmurs in a low, sultry growl, trying to tempt Sebastian to come back inside, take off his clothes, and stay, “until you couldn’t fuckin’ walk straight.”

“Oh, God,” Sebastian moans, slipping his hands beneath Kurt’s skin-tight black t-shirt.

“Well, what about Tuesday night?” Kurt asks when he notices Sebastian hasn’t made a move towards the bedroom, knowing logically that his sub does have to get back to school. Kurt's said so before – Sebastian is smart. He has a future, one that doesn’t include aging Doms and their egos. But Kurt takes the liberty of enjoying this closeness, even with clothes and coats on, his hands feeling around Sebastian’s hip, one latching on to his belt and the other sneaking down in front, rubbing at the seam along the fly of his jeans.

Sebastian’s next breath shudders, and Kurt sneaks his tongue in his mouth, running the barbell in his tongue along his hard palate.

“Mmm, I’m free Tuesday night, Master,” Sebastian says, leaving Kurt’s lips to kiss down his neck.

“Maybe you can bring a bag? Spend the night?” Kurt sucks in a sharp breath when Sebastian latches on and bites… _hard_. God, he was learning all of Kurt’s vulnerable spots, everywhere he liked to be licked and touched and kissed, all the various, deviant ways he loved to be fucked. It’s gotten to where Kurt has more hickeys on his body than tattoos, something he tries so hard to avoid, if not for looks, than for his own sanity…and he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Is that what you want, Master?” Sebastian whispers. Kurt doesn’t hear his sub’s question. He feels it, in light, trembling words that trip along the goose bumps forming on his neck, skipping from nerve to nerve, all the way to his toes, with a long stop over at his cock, which is already trying to break through the zipper in his jeans.

“Yes,” Kurt moans, rutting against Sebastian faster, wanting desperately to cum in Sebastian’s arms and not alone with his fleshjack in the shower. “That’s what I want.”

“Then I will, Master.” Sebastian’s lips leave Kurt’s neck and travel down his body, kissing him over his shirt, tracing the lines of tattoos underneath that Sebastian knows by heart.

“Good,” Kurt says as his sub drops slowly to his knees in front of him, hands and lips and occasionally tongue blazing a trail down his chest and abs. “I-I’ll make dinner…” Kurt stutters when Sebastian’s hot breath grazes his stomach. “We’ll hit the club, that way we can annoy the shit out of Elliott by making out in front of him all night. Maybe you’ll even get naked.”

“Mmm,” Sebastian hums against Kurt’s zipper, sending shivers shooting up his shaft through his pants. “Well, then…I’ll be there with bells on then, Master.”

Kurt chuckles. “I thought you’d like that, preppy.”

“I do, Master,” Sebastian says, mouthing hungrily, impatiently, over the bulge in Kurt’s jeans. “I really… _really_ …do.”

“How much?” Kurt asks, bending his back and stretching his arms over his head, pushing his hard-on in his sub’s face, demanding more.

“So much, Master, that it makes me hard thinking about it,” Sebastian says. “Sitting in your lap, biting your neck, calling you _Daddy_ …”

Sebastian pops the button and pulls Kurt’s zip down a few inches, and that’s all he has to do. Kurt’s cock, desperate for friction or any kind of attention, springs free from Kurt’s jeans, shoving the zip the rest of the way without Sebastian having to do a thing other than wrap his lips around it and suck.

Sebastian takes his Dom completely down his throat, and then pulls away slowly, slowly, so slowly, Kurt starts to move with him.

“Oh, God,” Kurt moans, grabbing Sebastian’s hair with one hand, the other creeping up the wall behind him. Trapped in Kurt’s doorway, with the front door slightly ajar, Sebastian sucks Kurt down hard, then reluctantly lets him go, pulling and pushing with no break in between, no loss of contact, no coming up for air, no release in suction until Kurt cums, which he does too quickly for Sebastian’s liking.

So, like the cocky sub he is (at least, that’s what Kurt has come to call him), Sebastian goes after one more of Kurt’s orgasms.

“Preppy!” Kurt squeals, pushing at Sebastian’s forehead, pulling his hair. “Preppy, no! Preppy, stop! Preppy...”

“That’s not the safeword, _Master_ ,” Sebastian teases, grabbing his Dom’s wrists and holding them. He knows he’ll pay for this later, but Goddammit, it’s going to be worth it.

“Preppy,” Kurt growls in warning, rolling his wrists in Sebastian’s grip – a stronger grip than Kurt ever realized his little lacrosse player had. “Preppy, no…Sebastian, don’t…Sebas…Seb---oh, _God_ …”

The masochist Kurt is, he lets Sebastian have this, giving in when his sub sucks past the point of oversensitivity to the other side, where another wonderful climax awaits him in the depths of his sub’s throat, and the hot, wet sheath of his mouth.

Sebastian won’t get the chance to cum until later, when he gets back to Dalton and jumps in a hot shower, but he doesn’t care. He wants to do this for Kurt, drain him dry, leave him tingling and satisfied, so he can stumble off to bed, light a cigarette, and eventually drift off to sleep with the buzz of Sebastian’s lips on his skin.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt moans, his body sinking down towards his sub’s mouth. “Sebastian, yes…oh, God, yes…”

More and more, Sebastian doesn’t mind getting on his knees for Kurt.

More and more, it feels like exactly where he belongs.

That’s why Sebastian has to do everything he can not to let Kurt get away.

***

Sebastian pulls out of Kurt’s neighborhood with his cock aching in his jeans, and a bright red hand print across his cheek, but best of all, the taste of Kurt on his tongue. Every time he breathes, every time he swallows, it’s there.

It’s more than worth all five slaps to the face Kurt gave him, even if he used his nails on the first three.

Once Sebastian hits the freeway, he puts his iPhone on speaker and dials his father. Normally, he’d wait till he got home, till he came down from the high he gets from being punished or from giving Kurt pleasure, but Sebastian has an idea – a fabulous idea – and he can’t wait to get it rolling.

Sebastian’s father picks up on the fifth ring, while Sebastian’s licking his lips and adjusting his crotch.

“Sebastian?” his father’s voice comes over Sebastian’s Bluetooth speaker, filling the car.

“Dad,” Sebastian says, clearing his throat of _Kurt_ for the moment.

“Hey, son,” his father says, sounding happy to hear from him, and Sebastian remembers, with a healthy amount of guilt, that he hasn’t spoken to his mother or father, not to mention seen them, for a few weeks now. “How are you doing? Busy with school?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian lies. “You know how it is – the mad dash to graduation. A lot of loose ends to tie up. I’m sorry I haven’t been available much.”

“Well, as long as you’re making good use of your time, I think we can spare you a few weekends.”

“Thanks for understand,” Sebastian says, wanting to kick himself for being such an asshole son. Then he suddenly thinks that kicking him is something Kurt might enjoy doing, with his vinyl, pointy-toed stiletto boots, before he makes Sebastian polish them with his tongue, or jerk himself off between them, on stage in front of everyone at his club, and his swollen cock bobs against his fly. “Hey,” Sebastian moves on, voice cracking, “do you and mom mind if I stop by for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Of course not,” his father says. “”Is there something wrong?”

“Nope,” Sebastian says. “Not at all. I finally decided what I want as a graduation present, and I was hoping we could talk about it in person.”

“Well, then,” his father says, mildly curious, “we’ll look forward to seeing you.”

“Great,” Sebastian says, hopping excitedly in his seat, which does his cock no favors. “I’ll see you then. Tell mom I said hi and I love her.”

“I will.”

Sebastian waits for his father to say good bye and disconnects the call before he slams on the gas and soars down the highway. He considers undoing his fly and rubbing one out while he drives, but he’d rather wait till he gets back to his dorm room to see if he can get Kurt on speaker phone.

He’s elated, ecstatic, flying high on adrenaline and this one, lofty scheme.

It might be a reach, but if he can pull it off, he’ll have everything he wants, and that, along with the possibility of jacking off to his Dom’s voice before bedtime, is worth breaking a few speed limits for.

***

Monday afternoon, after his classes let out, Sebastian showers, dresses, texts Kurt, and leaps into his Porsche, all in the space of forty-five minutes.

“Do you really have to go to your folks tonight, preppy?” Kurt asks, calling Sebastian back after their scheduled daily text to badger him some more. “Because, you know, I don’t think you’ve been sufficiently punished for what you did last night.”

“I do have to go, Master,” Sebastian says, grinning into his phone as he pulls out of the Dalton parking lot. “But, I promise, it’s for a good cause.”

“Any cause that’s not you sucking my dick I couldn’t care less about,” Kurt says.

 _We’ll see about that,_ Sebastian thinks, biting his tongue so he doesn’t chuckle.

Sebastian hears Kurt take a drag off his cigarette.

“You know,” Kurt says, strain in his voice from holding smoke in his mouth while he talks, “I don’t know why I let you get away with shit like that.”

“Because you fucking loved it, Master,” Sebastian says, emboldened by his incredible plan. He changes gears, gunning his engine down the highway so Kurt can hear. Kurt loves the way Sebastian’s Porsche purrs. It turns him on like crazy.

“Mmm,” Kurt hums through a long pause, and Sebastian knows he’s listening to his engine more than he’s listening to him. “I don’t know why I let you get away with talking to me like that, either.”

“Because, you fucking love that, too, Master,” Sebastian says, shifting one last time, knowing he’s getting his Dom hot.

“You’re right,” Kurt chuckles. “I do.” Sebastian hears a long drag, then Kurt blowing smoke out between his lips. Sebastian’s seen Kurt do it so many times, he can picture him in his head, maybe shirtless, with his head back on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, listening to Sebastian’s voice and his 6-cylinder, possibly with his hand sneaking down his chest to his pants. “Well,” Kurt says in a sort of half-moan, “drive safe, preppy, and just make sure you’re here tomorrow night, if not sooner.”

“Will do, Master,” Sebastian says.

Kurt hangs up first. He always does.

 _Drive safe._ That one’s new.

Sebastian remembers reading somewhere that _drive safe_ is one of a hundred other ways of saying _I love you_ without saying _I love you_.

Sebastian smiles, but decides not to look too much into it.

***

The house is quiet when he gets there - not that that’s unusual, but between the hectic atmosphere at school, especially in the senior dorms, with guys stoked over graduation and their plans after that; and the chaos of life as Kurt’s sub, time spent at his club, with its loud music, or at his house and everything they do together, even outside of Kurt dominating him and them fucking; his parents’ house seems so peaceful, so quiet.

He loves going home, but this quiet kind of rubs Sebastian’s nerves raw. It’s like a giant divot carved out of what’s become his real life, away from his parents and his childhood. Maybe that should seem sad, but it proves that the life he’s chosen, the course he’s laid out, is the right one – New York, college, possibly interning someplace high-paced.

Hopefully, with his Dom there to enjoy it with him.

Sebastian doesn’t come across his mom right away, probably working out back in her garden, but he find his dad in his study, sitting behind his desk with his reading glasses on, going over contracts or paperwork or whatever. He looks up when Sebastian walks in, with a warm, bright smile on his face, and Sebastian relaxes. It’s not a thin-lipped, overworked smile; it’s a calm, content, easy smile. This is the version of his dad he was hoping to talk to – not businessman Arnold Smythe, who sometimes has a thick skin when it comes to matters of money; but his father Arnold Smythe, the one who might be willing to listen to reason.

“Hey,” Arnold says, getting up from his desk and leaving behind his glasses to greet his son with a proper hug, “long time no see, huh, stranger?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sebastian says, hugging his father back. It’s been a while since he’s hugged anyone but Kurt. It feels kind of awkward. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Any time, any time,” his dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know that Dalton has some of the best chefs you can find at a boarding school, but nothing beats a home-cooked meal.”

“Or, at least, a meal cooked at home,” Sebastian teases, since it’s been close to a decade since either of his parents even stepped in to their kitchen.

“You’ve got me there,” Arnold says with a laugh. “So, you’ve finally decided what you want for a graduation present.” Arnold returns to his chair, and Sebastian takes the one in front of his father’s desk. Now, things shift slightly. Sitting in this chair, with his father seated in his position of power, slipping his glasses back on, Sebastian feels like he’s in the principal’s office, or maybe at the bank, asking for a loan. “Last we spoke at the start of term, you were deciding between a summer vacation in Rome, or a new Bentley, wasn’t it?”

“Actually, I’ve decided against either of those,” Sebastian says.

“Have you?” his father says, raising a curious brow.

“Yes.” Sebastian feels the start of a single nervous knot winding in his stomach. “But, I do know what I want, without a shadow of a doubt.”

“Really?” His father grins at his son’s declaration. “I have to say, that’s refreshing. You’re always so on the wire about things of this sort.” Sebastian holds his tongue at the remark _things of this sort_. He knows what his father’s hinting at. Sebastian’s not all that great at making decisions _period_. Gifts, colleges, his whole damn life. Well, that’s about to change. “Well, out with it,” Arnold says. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Sebastian takes a deep breath, lets it out. A smidgen of doubt leaks in to his carefully thought out plan, but then he thinks about Kurt. He reminds himself how badly he needs Kurt, how this might be the only way he gets to keep Kurt.

After that, speaking becomes easy again.

“I want the building on West 57th.”

Arnold straightens up, his lips twisting in preparation for a laugh, sure that his son has to be joking. But his son’s features remain straight, his determined expression firm, and the laugh halts.

“Why do you want a rundown building as your high school graduation present?”

“I need it for an investment,” Sebastian says, folding his hands in his lap, needing them clamped tight to hold him together.

“It’s not really worth much of anything as is,” Arnold says, more a statement of fact than an attempt to talk his son out of his decision. “It’s not zoned for apartments. At best, it’s a warehouse, and with the current economy, I don’t think you’ll be able to rent it out. I don’t see how you can turn a profit from it.”

“Well” - Sebastian fidgets in his seat, scooting toward the edge - “I want it to open up a night club. A very _particular_ night club.”

This time, his father lets himself laugh.

“What do you know about running a night club, Sebby?” he asks, slipping in a note of condescension that Sebastian has never appreciated. It’s a tactic his dad uses when he’s underbidding businesses during takeovers, to make his competitors feel inferior, and it’s always made Sebastian feel like a silly, stupid child, but he can’t let that derail him. This is it. He either takes it back, or he goes forward. He’s ridden this rollercoaster to the top with his father other times, and he’s usually bailed, but he can’t this time.

 _Not his future_ , he reminds himself. _This is for Kurt_.

 _Him_ and Kurt, but mostly Kurt.

Sebastian had practiced what he was going to say in the car. Now he just has to get the words out. He can’t lie to his dad, blow smoke in his face. This is business. One way or the other, his parents are going to find out about Kurt. At least, this way, knowing that he’s a successful businessman, his father might be prejudiced in Kurt’s favor.

“I know a guy,” Sebastian says, the knot in his stomach becoming a lump in his chest. “He runs a night club out in Columbus.” His father opens his mouth, but before he can ask what his eighteen-year-old son was doing in a night club in Columbus, Sebastian rushes on. “It’s extremely popular, line out the door every night, Class A rated, five stars on Yelp, good relationship with local law enforcement, and I know for a fact that it’s turning a decent profit.”

Arnold’s eyes open wide at his son’s thorough assessment.

Sebastian sees the change, and it bolsters his confidence, but he still can’t shake the feeling that he might be out of his league. This is his dad he’s talking to, but Arnold Smythe happens to be a master negotiator. His mother has always told him that good things start with a single step outside your comfort zone. That’s easy at school, surrounded by boys who think he’s some kind of god. Here, in his father’s study, with the one man who’s always been able to make him feel three inches tall with a single stare, is a different story. But his father loves him. He wants the best for him. Sebastian has to convince him that opening up a night club is that thing. “I just think, well, it’s kind of outgrown its venue.”

“Has it?” his father asks in an even, emotion-free tone.

“I think it has,” Sebastian says. “I personally feel it’s the kind of place that would do well in New York, especially in that particular location, near the actors’ district, close to Hell’s Kitchen. I mean, it does extremely well out here, and the neighborhood it’s in isn’t really part of its target demographic.”

Arnold nods. He actually seems impressed by the persuasiveness of Sebastian’s speech.

“So, you feel it’s a good investment?”

Sebastian nods. He can’t get a vocal affirmation out yet. Still, he should feel more nervous than he does. He was sweating bullets the whole ride here. But talking it over with his dad, discussing it out loud as if it’s an actual, viable possibility, Sebastian doesn’t feel all that anxious. He believes everything he’s saying.

He believes in Kurt.

“I think so,” Sebastian says. “It just needs the opportunity to spread its wings.”

Arnold Smythe looks at his son, appraising him from a non-biased perspective. The person he sees sitting in front of him is a nervous teenager with a brilliant idea, but there’s something more to it, something his son isn’t telling him. But Arnold can’t deny that if this night club is doing as well as Sebastian claims, he’d be a fool not to jump in on the ground floor of its expansion.

Besides, he wants to encourage his son to pursue his interests, not sit around and live off his trust fund for the rest of his life the way he and his mother were afraid he might do.

Sebastian has found a direction – finally. Arnold’s going to let him follow it. Even if it fails, Sebastian can say he did _something_.

“Fine,” Arnold says, opening the bottom drawer to his desk and thumbing through his hanging files. “You can have the building.” He pulls out a folder and sets it on the blotter in front of Sebastian. “Those are some photocopies of the deed, the appraiser’s report, photographs and whatnot. I’ll have official documents drawn up for you in the morning. But in the meantime, you can show those to your young man.”

Sebastian wants to smirk when his father calls Kurt _his young man_.

Sebastian wishes Kurt was.

“Thanks,” he says, replacing his want for a smirk with a much more apropos smile of gratitude. “I really appreciate this.”

“Well, Mr. Valedictorian, I would say you deserve it. I hope this investment goes well for you.”

“I do, too,” Sebastian agrees, fingering the label on the folder that says _West 57th_. “I do, too.”

Arnold notices the far off look in his son’s eyes, and he thinks, he _suspects_ he might know what it’s about. Arnold doesn’t want to ask. His son’s an adult now, and he doesn’t want to belittle him by making this opportunity out to be all about sex, but still, he knows his son. Whether Sebastian thinks so or not, Arnold knows about his son’s behavior at school, has been clued in by counselors and teachers about how Sebastian _interacts_ with certain members of the student body. Arnold has yet to say anything to Sebastian about it, though. He doesn’t feel the need to interfere. His son’s grades are exceptional, he’s responsible for the most part, and besides, none of the other parents have approached the Smythes directly about his son’s behavior. But here, he feels a need to step in, interject a level head.

Arnold doesn’t believe that business partners make good bedfellows, so if that part of this arrangement falls through, someone needs to be around to keep the business afloat. There’s no need for drama here. He’ll be damned if the Smythes turn into the Kardashians.

“And while you’re at it, why don’t you write me up a prospectus? I might be interested in some new venture capital myself.”

Sebastian’s eyes snap up from the folder to look at his father’s face.

“That would be…that would be great,” he says, floored by his father’s offer, something he never dreamed would come his way. “I’ll do that.”

“Good. Give me a second to shoot Lawrence a prelim, then you and I will join your mother for dinner.” Arnold winks at his son, a somewhat foreign gesture coming from his straight-laced dad. “You can tell her all about your big news.”

 _Hopefully, all your big news,_ Arnold thinks _._

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” Sebastian feels lightheaded, watching his father open up his laptop to send an email to the head of his investment team. His father only ever jumps on projects when he has a genuine vested interest. The lump in Sebastian’s chest and the knot in his stomach break free, and it’s all he can do not to leap out of his chair and fist pump the air.

Stage one of his plan to get Kurt to New York – _done_.

He found Kurt a location, a _perfect_ location. Sebastian couldn’t have asked for a better place if he tried. And his dad went along with it. He’ll have to ponder the amazing that that is later, but for now, he’s going to coast on his high.

Plus, he also managed to knock off a hidden part 1.0 - he got Kurt a second investor (aside from himself). A _lucrative_ investor.

All he has to do now is get Kurt on board.

That’s where his plan stalls. Kurt seems dead set on staying in Ohio. Sebastian’s not even sure if news as outrageous as this will change his mind. There’s some other obstacle in the way that Sebastian hasn’t seen. It’s not Kurt’s father. New York is close enough for him to visit whenever he wants – at least as much as he’s visiting now, which seems to be Thanksgiving, Christmas, Father’s Day, birthdays, and the occasional doctor’s appointment.

Kurt doesn’t have some bizarre loyalty to his home state – not the way he talks about it being the slime ball, hell pit, butthole, backwards blind cousin of the United States.

There’s something else. But the likelihood that Kurt will tell him _what_ is 50/50 at this point.

No. He has to try to find a way of convincing Kurt that doesn’t rely on him knowing any of Kurt’s secrets. He needs an in, a back door, and for that, he’s going to need the help of someone he loathes, who just so happens to loathe him back, who’s actually Sebastian’s biggest competition when it comes to the fight for Kurt’s affections.

 _Elliott_.


	20. A Dalton Boy Blackmailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter has a proposition for Sebastian - one he's sure that Sebastian can't refuse.
> 
> Warning for minor mention of Blaine.
> 
> A/N: I don't want this to be too confusing, but I have mentioned before that Hunter isn't too happy with Sebastian's relationship with Kurt, and that we'd see that. This is a little more future, but I don't think it's going to knock anyone for a loop. Also, there was a vague, nameless mention of the other character in here way back in a previous chapter. Basically, he's Sebastian's ex that Sebastian thought he might be in love with before he cheated on Sebastian with a girl.

“Hey there, Sebastian.”

 _Ugh_ … Sebastian groans in his head. A saying, something about turkeys coming home to roost or some ridiculous shit, scrolls through his brain, but he keeps his eyes glued to his text book, his fingers picking at his computer keys, even with the trespasser walking up behind him. Sebastian knew he couldn’t put Hunter off for long, but he has no intention of stopping his AP History essay to acknowledge the asshole creeping up on him, which is saying a lot since he’d much rather drive a steel pike through his testicles than write a history essay.

“I said, _hey_ _there_ Sebastian,” Hunter’s voice calls more forcefully, as if the strength or strain of his voice makes any difference to Sebastian.

“So?” Sebastian says, knowing that by engaging the enemy he’s doomed himself to having to talk with it, at least for the next five minutes.

“I need to talk to you,” Hunter says in his _captain of industry_ tone that Sebastian knows he practices when he’s alone in his room, the one he full-well intends on using with his supplicants when he hostilely takes over his first small business. He steps around the front of Sebastian’s table, grabbing a chair, and sitting down uninvited.

“So, talk,” Sebastian says, typing faster. “It’s a free country.”

“Yeah, but I need you to stop and listen.”

“Not gonna happen,” Sebastian says, flipping to the next page in his book even though he’s not there yet, trying to look as engaged in his homework as possible, and therefore unavailable for conversation.

“I just wanted to ask if you’ve heard that Jamie’s back at Dalton.”

Sebastian stops typing and sighs. Yeah, he’d heard. He’d heard and promptly ignored it, since they didn’t have any classes together. In the grand scheme of things, it meant less than nothing to him.

“And?” Though Sebastian could already tell _and what_ when he took a deep breath in and caught the scent of  CK One wafting through the air, irritating his nostrils like a cloud of stagnant dry rot. “Hello, Jamie,” he says with as much disdain and disregard as possible for one human being.

“Hello, Sebastian,” a higher pitched but much smoother, deceptively kinder voice than Hunter’s, says. Sebastian doesn’t lift his eyes to meet Jamie’s either, but Jamie pulls up a chair and sits at the table anyway.

“How’s your _girlfriend_?”

“Don’t be like that,” Jamie says, sounding hurt, undeservedly in Sebastian’s opinion.

“Okay,” Sebastian says, saving his document and shutting down his laptop. “How do you recommend I be then?”

Sebastian’s eyes finally snap up, and he sees the two boys in Dalton uniforms sitting across from him. Hunter wears his honey-gold hair combed and gelled into a Donald Trump-inspired sweep that Sebastian endlessly makes fun of behind Hunter’s back. Jamie’s lighter blond hair is longer in the front than the last time Sebastian saw it, and lowlighted around the frame of his face. Sebastian curses himself for noticing.

He hates that he even knows there’s any change, that it registered in his head without any effort.

“There’s no excuse for what I did,” Jamie says with a soft, weak smile that reminds Sebastian too much of Blaine. “I was immature and stupid. I felt that you weren’t giving me enough attention and I…I did that to hurt you.”

“Yeah?” Sebastian shrugs, closing his computer and shoving it into his book bag. “Well, I’m over it.”

“Please, Sebastian,” Jamie pleads, but with a smile behind his eyes that looks far from sincere, “can’t we just put the past behind us? Start over as friends, maybe rekindle our relationship?” Jamie reaches a hand across the table, supine in the hopes that Sebastian will take it. “We were good together once. We can be that way again.”

Sebastian fixes Jamie with the most significant stare he can conjure in the hopes that he’ll make himself perfectly clear.

“No.”

“Anyway,” Hunter carries on as if Sebastian didn’t give anything close to a final answer, “Jamie’s back at Dalton. He’s joining the Warblers again, and he’s second string goalie on the lacrosse team. So we felt that maybe the two of you might want to, you know, have lunch together or something. For old time’s sake.”

Sebastian cocks a brow. “Why?” he asks, standing from the table and tossing his strap over his shoulder. “I _hated_ old times. I’m glad they’re behind me. And to be honest, I couldn’t care less about either of you right now.”

“You know,” Hunter says, following Sebastian when he bolts from the table, with Jamie close behind. “I know what you’ve been doing all these months, going to that club we tricked you into going, hanging out with that freak who owns it.”

“They’ve seen the bruises,” Jamie speaks up, trying to sound sympathetic – no, pitying. That’s _pity_ Sebastian hears in his voice, and it’s fake, another classic Jamie Harding manipulation technique, the _I hurt because you hurt_ ploy. “In the locker room. Even though you try so hard to hide them.”

Sebastian stops walking. It’s all he can do to not start laughing. “Yeah,” he says, turning on both boys. “I hide them from losers like you because they’re none of your business.”

“Maybe they _are_ our business,” Hunter says. “Maybe it’s our job to protect a fellow student in need from domestic abuse. And seeing as you’re at risk and unwilling to get the help you so obviously need, it’s our responsibility to step in and lend a hand. You know, Warbler to Warbler.” Hunter steps forward, flashing his patented calculated grin. “Or, perhaps, you don’t want to _be_ a Warbler anymore?”

Sebastian’s eyes bounce from Hunter, with his smug smirk and raised brow, to Jamie, the expression on his face equally as smug, but simpering, and pathetic in its attempt to be alluring. Jamie, with his boyish charm and his naïve attitude that Sebastian once found endearing, seems remarkably adolescent now that he’s spent so much time with Kurt. Jamie’s wide, doe eyes remind Sebastian more of a cartoon basset hound than a sexually burgeoning ingénue, and a laugh sputters from his lips.

“Are you…are you serious? Are you trying to blackmail me or something?” Sebastian chuckles. “Because that’s really sad. I mean, I don’t know what you guys think you can take away from me, what you think you have over me. I’ve already been accepted to all of my first choice schools, I have a penthouse waiting for me in the city…”

“Maybe,” Jamie says uncomfortably, but not as much as he should if he’s trying to come off as the innocent, concerned ex. “Or maybe not after…”

“After what? After my _parents_ find out?” Sebastian laughs. “I’ve more than fucked my share of the student body here and you’ve never seen them show up at my dorm room door to force me to change my ways, have you? And FYI, I have every intention of telling them, but even if they found out from you two douchebags, do you know what they’d say? They’d say that I’m an adult, and that I get to make my own choices. They always have. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

“What?” Jamie says, a convincing catch cropping up in his voice. “You’re going to run off to see your freak?” Jamie closes the distance between them. “He isn’t good for you, Sebastian. Look what he’s doing to you. This isn’t like you, Sebastian. I know it’s not.”

“Let me tell you something about Kurt,” Sebastian says, getting up in Jamie’s face, and then in Hunter’s. “You can call him a freak all you want. He doesn’t care, and neither do I, because your puerile opinions mean nothing to us. And just so we’re clear, he’s no freak. He’s a _man_ , a handsome man, a _sexy_ man…and I let him fuck me for days.” Jamie gasps, eyes darting away, an act Sebastian used to think was cute – the bashful school boy thing always kind of got him hot. But now, watching Jamie do it here while he and Hunter had the gall to try and tear down Kurt, it’s just obnoxious. “What I’ve got going with him,” Sebastian says, pressing his glare uncomfortably into Jamie’s face without physically touching him, “you and I _never_ had and _will never_ have.”

Hunter shakes his head, acting like he’s sorry over his friend’s shortsightedness, when Sebastian can tell from the glimmer in his eye that he’s really, really not. “I’m sorry, Sebastian,” he says, “but I think this might call for drastic measures.”

“Ooo, drastic measures,” Sebastian mocks, unable to control the volume of his sarcastic laughter and attracting the attention of a few other boys heading toward their vehicles. “What? You’re going to kick me out of the Warblers? Go ahead. I’ll file a formal complaint, and I’ll even write down exactly why. I don’t care. You gonna have me thrown off the lacrosse team? Do it. I’ll tell Coach Perkins you’re trying to blackmail me because I’d rather fuck someone other than your little minion here. But whatever you think you can do to me, stop wasting my time. Just go ahead and do it. Because you know what? None of that shit really matters. _None_ of it. This is just _high school_ , Hunter. You think you’re hot shit? You’re just a big fish in a small pond. Once we graduate and walk through those doors for the last time, all this bullshit you seem to think matters to me will fade into the dust. New boys will become Warblers, take our places on the lacrosse team, and the only reason anyone will even remember us is because our names will be engraved on some fucking plaque in the hallway. And the only person who’s probably even going to read it is the fucking janitor who’s going to have to dust it once a month.” Sebastian snickers, lightheaded. He walks slowly towards his car, turning back around to address a sneering Hunter and an aghast Jamie one last time. “I can’t _believe_ you guys actually thought that would work. I mean, I could literally be expelled from school today, and I would _still_ win at the game of life. So, you know, fuck off, drop dead, and don’t fucking talk to me again.”

***

“Far Beit for me to look a gift dick in the mouth, but would you like to tell me, preppy, to what do I owe this honor?”

Sebastian looks down at the naked body bent in front of him, the tree tattoo growing out from underneath his hands, roots curling around hips that Sebastian’s holding on to for dear life. “Did you ever have to fuck someone away, Master?”

“Hmm, every day of my life, preppy.” Kurt peeks over his shoulder at his sub, balls deep in his ass. “So is that what this is?” Kurt asks in a stony voice. “You’re dumping your angst over some little piece of shit in my ass?”

Kurt’s tone hits Sebastian hard, slaps him in the face, fingernails and all, and Sebastian feels like trash. Sebastian hadn’t said anything to Kurt when he showed up on his doorstep. He didn’t know how to explain it. For some reason, he didn’t think he had to. Kurt opened the door, took a single look in Sebastian’s eyes, and kissed him. He grabbed the lapels of Sebastian’s uniform blazer and yanked him inside his house, and Sebastian, without permission, started undressing him. He figured that would end in one of two ways - he’d get fucked or he’d get punished. He was hoping to get fucked, but he was willing to accept either one.

Punishment would have probably served him better under the circumstances.

Fucking is an act of pleasure, a reward, but punishment is an act of ownership, and Sebastian needed to feel owned. He needed that pain, the denial, to remind him that no matter what, he belonged to Kurt, and the Jamies of the world couldn’t do anything to him again. Couldn’t touch him, couldn’t cheat on him, couldn’t break off pieces of his heart and toss them aside.

Sebastian didn’t expect Kurt to command him to bend him over his bed and _pound him black and blue_. But Sebastian jumped at the opportunity without having the decency to tell him why. And now, hearing it from Kurt’s lips in that icy tone of his, Sebastian realizes the sin he’s committed.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, dropping his hands from Kurt’s hips. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“No need to be sorry, preppy,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes. He grabs Sebastian’s hands and returns them to his hips. “We’re all human here. We all use sex for comfort at some point in our lives. At least you came here for it instead of finding someone more…convenient.”

That comment, with an edge of insecure to it, hurts worse than the stony slap of Kurt’s remark before.

Sebastian bends low to Kurt’s back, and drops kisses down his spine where a spindly branch reaches up toward an absent sun.

“There is no one else, Master,” Sebastian says softly. “I swear. No one else.”

Kurt looks at the face of his sub, so young, so obedient, so loyal, and grins. “Then have at it,” Kurt says, pushing back against Sebastian’s cock. “And, preppy?”

“Yes, Master?”

Kurt winks. “Make it hurt.”


	21. A Dalton Boy Branded and in Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wants to be collared. He wants the world to know that Kurt owns him. He wants something permanent. He wants his Dom to be proud. And Kurt, his heart breaking a little where Sebastian is concerned, wants to give his beautiful boy what he wants. But a collar isn’t entirely practical considering Sebastian goes to a private school…with uniforms. So, they come to a compromise. 
> 
> Sebastian’s thrilled.
> 
> Hunter finds out, and is really not amused.
> 
> (A/N: There’s a lot new to this chapter. The more the story goes, the more we see Sebastian’s submissive side emerge, but it’s only there for Kurt. We see a pretty thorough perspective on the subject of collars and their alternatives. We see Kurt’s perspective on Sebastian in general beginning to change a bit, too.)

Sebastian brings a hand up to his neck and runs a finger underneath the collar Kurt makes him wear when they go to the club. It’s buckled a little tight, the rigid edge digging into his skin a bit, but Sebastian kind of likes it that way. He likes the mark it leaves, that he gets to look at later on, a red line like a choker around his neck, concealed smartly beneath the collar of his uniform dress shirt. Kurt had explained to Sebastian early on that when he wears this collar - made of thick, stiff black leather, with the letters _KH_ embossed in gold in the center - it means _hands off_! He is not to be touched or played with by anyone else, though, no one at Kurt’s club would ever dream of touching Sebastian without Kurt’s permission. But for those dominants who are new to Kurt’s particular kinky dream palace and its various understood rules, when Sebastian wears that collar, everyone knows that he belongs to Kurt.

 _Belongs to Kurt_. Sebastian loves the sound of that, anytime he hears it. When he crawls through the club on his hands and knees to get to his Master and he hears someone hiss, “Don’t touch! That one belongs to Kurt,” or when they sit together at a gathering of Doms and subs, with Sebastian obediently at Kurt’s feet, and Kurt pulls on the collar, saying silently to anyone nearby, “ _This one’s mine_ ,” it makes Sebastian weak.

Excited, aroused, and sickeningly weak.

Sitting at Kurt’s feet, with no reason to think, just obey; no decisions to make, letting Kurt decide everything; has become Sebastian’s place of peace. He can let the stress of school bleed away, the pressure of standardized testing, AP testing, exit exam testing, testing testing, and all the other bullshit that goes hand in hand with being a high school senior, preparing for the vague and ubiquitous future. He can narrow his focus entirely to Kurt’s hand in his hair, Kurt’s outside thigh where Sebastian rests his temple, and the occasional tug up when Kurt wordlessly commands the use of his sub’s mouth for either a kiss or a blow, and Sebastian simply gives it without question.

This is only a fraction of what ownership has come to mean to Sebastian, and the collar around his neck represents that. But this particular collar that Kurt puts on Sebastian is temporary. When Sebastian leaves Kurt’s house after a weekend together, Kurt takes the collar off, and the minute it leaves Sebastian’s skin, he feels bereft, empty. Sebastian has seen other couples at Kurt’s club, with Dom and sub, Master and slave, Caregiver and little, wearing matching collars or rings, inscribed somewhere with their chosen titles, indicating not only that the sub in the pair is owned, but that the two belong with one another.

Sebastian’s certain that Kurt will never consent to belonging to anyone, not after what happened between him and Blaine. But Sebastian doesn’t need that for now. What he needs is something permanent. Something that belongs to only the two of them. He wants the world to know that he belongs to Kurt, even if it’s only the world Sebastian inhabits on the weekends, the one that acknowledges that things like collars are important, that they have meaning.

It’s part of Sebastian’s life now. Part of who he is, and he’s proud of it.

He wants Kurt to be proud of him, too.

Sebastian approaches Kurt boldly, locking eyes for a split-second before selecting which form of worship fits with the chosen conversation.

“So…when do I get a collar, Master?” Sebastian asks, rolling onto his Dom’s body and placing kisses down his chest. He lowers his eyes and bows his head the way Kurt enjoys seeing his _beautiful_ boy, which he calls Sebastian more and more over the nickname _preppy_ when they’re together in private, especially during sex.

Kurt chuckles around the end of his cigarette, causing the lit end to bounce. He plucks it from between his lips and rests it against the edge of his ashtray so as not to shower himself with ash. “What do you know about collars, preppy?”

“I know that they’re a sign of ownership,” Sebastian says, his tongue circling Kurt’s nipple while Kurt hums contentedly beneath him. “A sign of loyalty and devotion.”

“Then you also know that they’re not given out lightly,” Kurt says, stern, but also intrigued by Sebastian’s interest. What started out as playing between them months ago has turned into something deeper; Kurt can’t deny that. But a collar? That’s quite a leap. For some people, it’s the ultimate leap, tantamount to marriage. Kurt doesn’t think Sebastian knows that entirely, or he might not have asked. But whatever it would mean to the two of them, it seems like eight dozen steps farther than Kurt ever imagined Sebastian taking this.

“I do, Master,” Sebastian says. “Nor do I imagine that they should be accepted lightly, either.”

“This is true,” Kurt agrees, watching Sebastian reach his hip and roll his tongue over it, planting lazy deep kisses on the soft skin of his groin in between. “Hmm…and you would accept a collar from me if I gave you one, beautiful?”

“I would, Master,” Sebastian says, moving his trail of kisses along Kurt’s thigh to whisper against his cock, brushing his lips down its length, caressing with barely there strokes of his tongue. “I want to be yours, Master. _Only_ yours.”

“You know” – Kurt moans, bending his knees up and spreading his legs, wishing to God his sub had chosen a different time to talk about this since it was turning into a bittersweet subject for Kurt, more than he thought it would be – “you don’t have to have a collar to be mine. You’re mine, my one and only…until you leave.”

“A-and…and after I leave, Master?” Sebastian asks quickly, taking Kurt into his mouth to cover for the way his voice wavers.

“Well, I guess that’s…kinda up to you,” Kurt says, not sure that he has an answer to that. Anyone else, he’d say yay or nay…mostly nay. He’s never collared a sub before, not the way Sebastian wants to be collared. Kurt’s never had a relationship with a sub like the one he has with Sebastian. He’s never cared for someone as much, never enjoyed someone the way he enjoys Sebastian, and not just his body. He enjoys spending time with him, hanging out together, talking, laughing, fucking. It didn’t take Kurt too long to realize that Sebastian leaving would carve something out of him, but he consistently forced himself to believe that it didn’t mean as much to Sebastian, despite the evidence to the contrary. But Sebastian’s so young. He couldn’t possibly understand.

The way Kurt didn’t completely understand when he went through this step with Blaine.

But Sebastian is such a different person than he and Blaine ever were. Kurt always chides Sebastian for being such a teenager, but in many ways, he’s more an adult, more centered, more grounded, with more determination and sense of self than anyone Kurt’s ever met.

Sebastian pulls away from his Master’s cock. “I want to be yours, Master,” Sebastian repeats with a hint more conviction. He doesn’t know how else to say it. There doesn’t seem to be any other way that’s more clear than this. “It doesn’t matter where I am.”

“Even when you’re away at college, in New York, with handsome men throwing themselves at your feet? Because it’s going to happen, beautiful. I can see the future,” Kurt kids, covering up a niggling bit of his own insecurity. He hates that he thinks of that sometimes - Sebastian getting to New York, being around kids similar to himself, with the same drive to succeed, the same determination to conquer the world, coming from the same privilege but more down-to-earth than those Dalton Academy fucks he’s around now, and realizing what a moldy old man Kurt really is.

“Even when I’m at college missing you, Master,” Sebastian says, climbing up the mattress to lay his body over Kurt’s, to rest his head on Kurt’s chest and talk over his heart, “I’ll consider myself yours, and only yours.”

Kurt swallows hard. It’s a sweet thing to hear. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. Kurt knows the danger of hearing what you want to hear. He’s usually much smarter, more cynical about remarks like that, quick to cut them down. But this one he lets wedge itself inside his heart and stay there, with everything else Sebastian means to him.

“Well, just so you know, it doesn’t have to be an actual collar,” Kurt explains, running his fingertips over the uncovered skin of Sebastian’s neck above the leather, the idea growing on him too much to discourage it. “It can be something that _represents_ you being collared - a bracelet, a chain, even a brand - which would probably be better considering I don’t think Dalton would appreciate you wearing a big old leather collar at school.”

Kurt chuckles, imagining Sebastian in his Dalton uniform with a thick leather and spiked collar wrapped around his neck, Kurt’s initials emblazoned in the center in big, red rhinestones. Sebastian smiles. He has to admit, as he pictures his own variation in his head, it’s a special look.

His brow furrows as he goes over the other options Kurt mentioned.

“A brand, Master?” Sebastian asks, looking up at his Dom with an eyebrow raised. “What’s a brand?”

“It is what it sounds like, preppy,” Kurt says, taking Sebastian’s hand, grabbing his cigarette out of the ashtray, and putting it out in the callouses that line his palm.

Sebastian doesn’t flinch. He realizes Kurt did it as a demonstration, not a punishment.

“You mean…like cattle? Do people really do that, Master?” Sebastian asks as Kurt kisses the spot he burned. Sebastian’s eyes sweep over Kurt’s skin, looking for a mark he might have missed. He’s never seen a person with a brand before.

“Well, yeah,” Kurt says, putting the crushed butt of his clove back in the ashtray, and the ashtray on the table beside his bed. “I don’t have one,” he comments, noticing how Sebastian’s eyes continue their skim of Kurt’s arms and chest. “It’s mostly for committed couples. It’s more permanent than a piece of jewelry. It’s a mark of true devotion.”

Kurt stares into Sebastian’s eyes - darkening green eyes that look more resolute every second they lock with Kurt’s. Kurt smiles slowly, giddy, and for a second, he has to look away.

“Get out with that shit, preppy!” he laughs, smacking Sebastian lightly on the arm. “Are you serious? Would you do that?”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says. “I would.”

Sebastian kisses Kurt hard and Kurt lets him, smiling against his sub’s mouth, for once, without a single comeback he can think of.

_***_

It’s the memory of that kiss that leaps to Sebastian’s mind as Hunter glares at him, his fingers hovering closer than Sebastian likes to the mark on his shoulder, the intricate half-sun, half-moon, wrapped up in a double band of metal chains brand that Kurt had specially designed, specially ordered, and gifted him with that past weekend.

“This has gone too far, Sebastian!” Hunter roars, yanking back the collar of Sebastian’s shirt. “What the fuck is this?”

Sebastian doesn’t know how Hunter saw it. Sebastian’s locker is three rows away and several down from anyone else’s. He’d moved it in an effort to keep his private life to himself, and no one made it a point to switch lockers to be close to him. He didn’t peg Hunter for a lurker. Sebastian’s gym locker used to be next to Hunter’s, but the more Kurt marks him up, the more difficult it gets to hide the bruises, and Sebastian doesn’t want anyone else to see them. Not because he particular cares what they’ll think, but because those marks are sacred. They’re badges of ownership as far as Sebastian’s concerned, and no one at school deserves to set eyes on them.

Sebastian doesn’t need Nosy Nellies trying to start trouble for him.

Like Hunter.

Besides, the students and teachers wouldn’t understand, and Sebastian’s not interested in explaining it. Being Kurt’s sub, going to his club, staying at his house – they’re all Sebastian’s sanctuary, and he’s not about to share that.

“I said what the _fuck_ did that freak do to you, Bas?” Hunter hisses, repeating his question a second time, pissed that he has to.

“I’ve already told you that what I do on my time is none of your fucking business!” Sebastian growls, wrenching the collar of his shirt out of Hunter’s hand and covering the brand. “So lay the fuck off!”

“This isn’t some dumb fetish anymore,” Hunter says while Sebastian tries to ignore him, something he finds himself having to do a lot lately. “That’s just…that’s insane! I mean, what were you thinking? You just let him burn you? How much of a whipped little pussy are you?”

Sebastian figures he should say something to that, but it really doesn’t matter. Hunter’s opinion doesn’t matter, but it would be nice if he kept it to his fucking self. Sebastian focuses on shoving the rest of his gear into his bag because if he doesn’t, if one hand becomes free, he’ll be slugging Hunter in his stupid, fucking, inbred, fake tan face.

Sebastian grabs his book bag and storms off, blazer open, tie undone, dress shirt still askew, definitely out of uniform, but he doesn’t care. Let somebody write him up. He’s almost out of there anyway.

“We’re not done talking about this!” Hunter calls after him.

“Jesus Christ!” Sebastian groans. “When are you going to realize that yes, we are? I’m not talking about this with you… _ever_.”

“You’re only making this worse for yourself!” Hunter insists. “I told you before…”

Sebastian doesn’t let him finish. Before he turns the corner and walks out of the locker room, he raises a hand and flips Hunter off.

Sebastian has had it with Hunter, had it with his prying. What the fuck did it matter to him what Sebastian did anyway? It’s not like they were really even friends. They never were. Hunter’s big on competition and appearance. He likes associating with people that he thinks will be good for his social standing. Was Sebastian ever really that? If so, he can’t remember when that happened.

Hunter has a huge hard-on for the Big Brother mentality, and when he puts his mind to something as adamantly as he has put it to this, meddling in Sebastian’s life, there’s usually a reason. Sebastian needs to find out what that reason is before Hunter does something out of line.

Before he messes with him too much. Before he tries to mess with Kurt.

But not right now.

Right now Sebastian needs to get in his Porsche and get back to his Dom. If there’s one person in the world who can straighten things out for him, make things clear in his mind again, it’s Kurt.

 


	22. A Dalton Boy and the No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian has a bad day at school, and his Dom does his best to help.
> 
> Set some time in the future, and meant to showcase Kurt's progression in this relationship. (Warnings for bondage and oral.)

By no means is Kurt waiting by the front door just because he knows his sub is coming over.

Nope. He’s not. He has more important things to do than peek his head out the window every five minutes like a lonely Labrador, waiting for its master.

In fact, he’s offended by the comparison, even if it is his own.

He does make it a point to be _in_ the living room, sitting on the sofa, reading whatever book he’s recently downloaded to his Kindle, when five o’clock rolls around. That’s a good hour after the final bell tolls at Dalton. Today’s Thursday. Sebastian doesn’t have any after school stuff going on, so factoring in showering and grabbing a bite to eat, he should be at Kurt’s house by six.

Kurt knows Sebastian’s school schedule by heart, but not because he purposefully memorized it. Not at all. It just happened that way. Repetitive routine - it was only a matter of time before it became engrained in Kurt’s brain. Nothing weird about that.

But even if he had consciously set Sebastian’s schedule to memory, who cares? He can’t help getting excited, and he refuses to feel guilty about it. He has fun with Sebastian. Sebastian’s always so willing to serve, so eager to try new things. He enjoys everything Kurt does to him so fucking much, loves slipping into subspace, letting the perfectly curated walls of his school day crumble so his masochistic side (as tame as it might be) can come out to play.

Kurt used to wait until Sebastian rang the doorbell three times or more before he answered. Now, Kurt’s okay with once, if he’s not already standing in the doorway to supervise his sub coming up the walk – ensuring that he’s following directions correctly, of course. No other reason.

Kurt hears Sebastian’s Porsche pull up to the curb, that melodic hum of the engine almost as erotic as Sebastian’s whimpers and moans, though the scales tip in Sebastian’s favor the more Kurt gets to have him.

This time, an unexpected text message from Elliott keeps Kurt from answering the door before Sebastian presses the doorbell, which he does twice.

“Well, well, well,” Kurt coos as he opens the door, “who do we have here?”

Sebastian, with his head bowed, doesn’t look up, doesn’t smile. He simply says, “It’s a pleasure to see you, Master. May I come in?”

Kurt’s smile goes crooked, and he shrugs.

“Sure,” he says, stepping back. “Come on in.”

Sebastian steps through the door sedately, stopping to take off his shoes and socks, and leaving them by the door, per Kurt’s rule. Then he steps aside to let his Dom lead him, complying without hesitation, doing exactly what’s expected. If he were any other sub, Kurt would say he was demonstrating perfect submission, a complete regard of Kurt’s rules, which should be rewarded.

But Kurt knows Sebastian. This isn’t submission. Sebastian’s bummed, and he’s covering up with this act of flawless behavior.

If Sebastian were anyone else, Kurt would let it slide, as long as his sub did as he was told. But that’s not Sebastian. That’s not how their dynamic works. Sebastian’s different, special. That’s why Kurt enjoys him so much. His snarky attitude, his blatant disregard for some of Kurt’s rules while still trying so damn hard to obey them, this beautiful boy who kisses Kurt whenever he wants, as much as he wants, who’ll go down on his knees for him at the drop of a hat, who craves being bitten till he cums - that’s the sub that Kurt wants. That’s the sub Kurt’s been waiting all day for.

“Okay, okay,” Kurt says as his sulking submissive follows his Master into the bedroom. Kurt grabs Sebastian’s arm and pulls him over to an upright wooden chair at the end of his bed – a chair that Sebastian knows well, a relic from Kurt’s Dalton days that he stole from his bedroom the day he left. Sebastian has that same exact type of chair in his bedroom. After sitting on it here in Kurt’s room - using it the way Kurt does, being a victim to its cruel stringency, its unyielding nature - doing his homework in his dorm room has become very conflicting. “You’ve got a serious case of the mopes. Chair, preppy, and tell me what’s wrong.”

Sebastian sits in the familiar chair and gets into position – legs flush against the frame, hands behind the back. This chair is one of Kurt’s favorite tools for subduing his sub. Considering its origins, Sebastian has yet to figure out if that’s symbolic or ironic. The chair gives Kurt unfettered access to his favorite parts of Sebastian’s body, exceptional ease to edge him, plus the ability to straddle him and fuck him if he decides to do so mid-stream. It also puts Sebastian in a rather attractive position for Kurt to look at while he’s lying in bed – smoking, masturbating, or falling asleep, though he does that last one rarely since he enjoys having his sub sleep beside him way too much.

“It’s just…school, Master,” Sebastian says as Kurt ties his wrists behind his back, and then secures the long tail left of the rope to the bottom rung of the chair. “Random bull crap. No big deal.”

“Yes, big deal, preppy,” Kurt says, grabbing another length of rope and kneeling at Sebastian’s feet. “So tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, Master, I have this mock internship class…”

Kurt starts wrapping the rope around Sebastian’s legs one at a time, binding it around his calf to the leg of the chair and working down to his ankles. Sebastian gets caught up watching, the rhythm of Kurt wrapping his limbs soothing away a day of inane arguments and snide back-and-forth remarks - with a teacher, no less.

Kurt stops. He looks up at Sebastian’s face with the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Go on.”

“Okay, Master.” Sebastian breathes out, staring straight ahead to not get distracted. “Well, we’re doing a project where we’re supposed to represent a not for profit, vying for the use of a commercial space. We had to write up a business plan, a-and...”

The sound of his zipper lowering has him stuttering to a halt.

“And?” Kurt hums, his lips close to Sebastian’s crotch, heat washing over his cock and balls through the cotton of his briefs, giving Sebastian a clue as to what Kurt plans on doing next. Or not. With Kurt, he could do anything. He could divert 180 degrees, climb up on the chair, and fuck Sebastian’s mouth. Kurt has a delicious habit of keeping Sebastian on his toes.

“Write up a business plan…” Sebastian backtracks a step, his head falling back when he feels Kurt spread his fly open wide. A single scissor blade slicing through his underwear barely nicks his cock, and he jumps, but he settles back into the chair when the slick metal slowly slides up and down his shaft.

Kurt loves challenging Sebastian’s senses, especially with objects that he knows will set his sub’s nerves on edge. He constantly pushes the boundaries of Sebastian’s fear…and his faith. Kurt might actually shave him with the razor-sharp edge of these shears. That’s a possibility, too. He’s mentioned it before. Sebastian’s not sure if he’s brave enough for that, but he trusts his Dom, and that cold metal against his skin actually feels more sensual than he might have thought.

But only because Kurt’s holding the handle.

“…and present it. I chose…” Sebastian moans when Kurt’s soft lips and his hot, wet mouth replace the sensation of hard metal on his cock. “I ch-chose Children’s Hospital… _oh, God_ …” Sebastian sucks in when Kurt does, and holds his breath as Kurt stops around the head, lapping over it in the confines of his mouth with the flat of his tongue.

“Why Children’s Hospital?” Kurt asks while the very tip of his tongue teases Sebastian’s slit.

“Uh…because, I… _mmm_ …because they need…uh…an annex. A living annex!” he blurts out when Kurt sinks over him, taking him completely. “For families…” Sebastian says in a desperate attempt to continue when Kurt gently tugs, up and down, up and down, in short sucks. “To stay with their kids…while they’re getting…uh…you know…uh…care…”

Kurt sucks up slowly, chuckling when he pulls off and Sebastian whines, his sub’s whole body flattening as the air rushes out of his lungs.

“That’s awfully noble, preppy,” Kurt says, whispering around Sebastian’s erection, his lower lip, swollen from sucking, dancing against his skin. “Why’d you pick that?”

“Because I…” Sebastian’s voice drifts off, his eyes roll up, and it’s everything he can do to keep from bucking his hips when Kurt goes back to deep-throating him, stopping with the head of Sebastian’s cock at the back of his throat and sucking ever so slightly. “I…I…I have a cousin…who needed surgery when he was four, and his folks had to stay in a hotel about five miles away.”

Kurt swallows around him, and Sebastian swallows reflexively, mimicking the movement, holding on to how sublime it feels. Kurt does it one more time to feel Sebastian shudder.

“The building, uh…it’s right…right across from the hospital. It would be per…fect…oh… _God_ …”

Kurt bobs up and down steadily, stroking Sebastian with his tongue as he goes, flicking over the top and then swallowing him down to the base.

“So,” Kurt says as he pulls off again, the startling contrast between Kurt’s hot mouth and the chilly bedroom air shocking Sebastian from his stupor. “It sounds like you did your research. It should have been a slam dunk. What went wrong? Did you choke on the presentation?”

Between statements, as an ending mark to each question, Kurt gives Sebastian a lick that makes his cock twitch. It’s not the same as being buried in Kurt’s mouth, but Sebastian’s always been a huge fan of Kurt’s gentle little licks. This attention amidst conversation is nearly enough to make Sebastian cum.

 _Nearly_.

But Kurt’s hand around his balls, squeezing, tamps down that urge.

“He said…” Sebastian stammers. “He said he didn’t find…he didn’t…uh…”

“Preppy,” Kurt scolds, “if you stop, I do, too.”

“He said he didn’t find my argument compelling,” Sebastian speeds through the words so Kurt won’t stop, and Kurt’s chuckling against his shaft almost finishes him. “He said that he felt I didn’t think it through. He doesn’t believe in the sustainability of my proposal. He wants me to pick something else and do the whole thing over again.”

Kurt takes Sebastian’s cock halfway in his mouth and suckles, offhanded, his mind pondering elsewhere while Sebastian squirms internally for release. Kurt pulls off Sebastian’s cock with a pop just as Sebastian gets close, so near to saying _fuck it_ and cumming down Kurt’s throat, dealing with the consequences later.

The blissful, painful, bruising consequences. Consequences that will probably keep him aching from denial, locked in a cage, with marks he’ll need to cover up from his neck to his toes.

“Is that something I can help you with, preppy?”

Sebastian’s eyes shift down to his Dom, staring up at him, face tilted thoughtfully. Anyone else, and Sebastian might scoff, but he learned a long time ago not to underestimate Kurt. And besides, could he ask for a better teacher? Kurt gets him. He knows how to explain things to him, how to help him understand. He’s patient, attentive, and smart as a whip (no puns intended). He’s a successful club owner who knows the practical, real-world ins and outs of owning a business.

Besides, the incentive system would be _phenomenal_.

“Well…” Sebastian watches with fascination as Kurt’s tongue lazily swipes over the head of his cock - this strong, confident man on his knees for him such a powerful aphrodisiac. Sebastian doesn’t know how he’s lasted so far. “I mean…are you offering to proof my business model, Master?”

“Of course,” Kurt says. “I think you have an excellent idea, and a workable angle. Maybe your execution’s off. Either way, I’d love to see it.”

“Then…yes,” Sebastian replies, flattered by the offer. “Yes, Master. Please, I would love your input.”

“Great.” Kurt climbs to his knees. “Then let’s finish up here,” he suggests, one long finger circling the sensitive head of Sebastian’s wet cock, keeping him on edge while he takes a pause to speak. “And after I get you relaxed, help you find your headspace, we can do our scene. Then we’ll hole up in bed…” Kurt leans in closer, lets his lips brush Sebastian’s, tongue toying, tempting Sebastian to kiss him. “And you can do everything in your power to _convince_ me.”

 


	23. A Dalton Boy and a Moment of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really going to write a summary for this one, because I feel the title is somewhat self explanatory. Here we are, further along in their relationship, and we see the changes Dom and sub have gone through. Kurt feels more free to be the Dom he normally is, a bit more extreme, a little more sadistic, playing off the fact that Sebastian's sub side has developed significantly more as time goes on. This is something kind of unexpected for Kurt. He obviously didn't expect them to get to this point, and he can't help but wonder why Sebastian wants this...or if this milestone that they've reached is actually a good thing. We also get a peek at Kurt's backstory, and a hint as to how he ended up this way. (P. S. To date, I think this is the best chapter in this series that I have written. Please let me know what you think. Also, warning for mention of Blaine, more extreme bondage, and the use of an anal hook, which is not as disgusting as it sounds, I promise xD)

Kurt watches with eyebrow kinked as Sebastian applies a midnight-hued polish by Dior to the nail of his middle toe. Sebastian leans forward, tongue trapped between his teeth at the right corner of his mouth as he paints, careful not to get a drop on Kurt’s skin. This bottle of nail polish is probably the most expensive cosmetic Kurt currently owns, and though he appreciates his sub’s expensive taste, in all honesty, he wouldn’t care if it cost one dollar or a hundred. He relishes _this_. He’d forgotten how much he missed having something like this – quiet Saturday nights spent at home, no need for talk or television or fancy dinners. Or clothes, for that matter. Just burgers and fries, and an intimate, indulgent activity – a massage, a brush through his hair, polish on his nails.

Younger Kurt Hummel might disagree, preferring to go out on the town with his friends, sing at _Callbacks_ , or channel his inner _gay bar superstar_ , but with as much struggle as that version of Kurt went through, he hadn’t really gotten a bite of real life, hadn’t sunk his teeth in far enough to taste blood. He didn’t understand how cathartic this was – how necessary.

Kurt and Blaine had moments like this, but not too many. High school and college were such a whirlwind time, filled with non-stop hustle and bustle, and friends who didn’t seem to have homes of their own, opting to camp out on Kurt and Blaine’s sofa, or the warmer spots on their floor, most of the time uninvited. They all went to the same school anyway; all had such parallel lives. At the time, Kurt didn’t have half-a-mind to object. He and Blaine did have the requisite evenings in where they baked together, or broke out the fruit and cheese plate and watched a movie, but Kurt could count those on both hands, with a few fingers to spare. Everything else ended with calling up the gang and doing something together as a group.

That’s how the _sharing_ started. It’s also part of how they ended up in the scene to begin with. God, sometimes Kurt wishes he could travel back to the past and say no, follow his instincts. But he was so God dammed eager to please.

So eager to keep Blaine, who Kurt felt slipping farther and farther away every single day.

But every choice in life comes with its good and bad outcomes. That choice ultimately brought Elliott into his life, and now Sebastian. Kurt’s not sure that he’d be willing to trade either man for the life he had, the future he’d mapped out, considering how much of it turned out to be an illusion.

Since he can’t go back, it’s moot anyhow. No reason to linger on bad judgement calls.

Kurt and Elliott had something sort of like this, when Elliott subbed for Kurt in those spaces in between when he was getting over Blaine and trying to find himself, but similar isn’t the same. Elliott didn’t offer; he did as he was told. Kurt doesn’t look at it as a negative thing. It’s what he needed at the time. But when that time was over, and Elliott submitted to him out of pure want, their dynamic never changed.

Maybe that’s because it was never meant to.

The closest Kurt came to having this was during the short span when Adam was his sub. But Adam, who originally entered the scene as a switch, realized quickly that he was, in no way, a submissive. They tried dating as a vanilla couple, but they both needed something the other couldn’t offer, and neither one of them was amenable to sharing. So even though they enjoyed their time together, their relationship, as hot as it was, as passionate, wasn’t destined to last. There was too much internal struggle, too much butting heads for control. They never lashed out because of it, never fought over it. They simply agreed together that they would be better off apart, and remained close friends.

It’s the most adult relationship Kurt’s had to date.

Kurt assumed something along those lines would happen between him and Sebastian. Sebastian seemed like such an alpha male, and he still does. Kurt doesn’t think it’s an act. Sebastian Smythe, in his own universe, is the epitome of _large and in charge_.

That changes when Kurt’s around. Sebastian changes. And now, here they were, in Kurt’s bedroom, with Sebastian kneeling at Kurt’s feet, painting his nails.

And Kurt, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why.

But having this relationship with Sebastian is beyond fantasy.

It’s also extremely dangerous.

Sebastian dips the small brush into the bottle, pulls it back out, and moves on to the next toe, layering cool lacquer over Kurt’s nail.

“Do you really enjoy doing this?” Kurt asks.

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian answers, without reservation, and without looking up from his task.

“May I ask why?”

“You may, Master,” Sebastian replies, his smart-ass grin secretive, but twisting his lips enough for Kurt to notice. Kurt smirks. That cocky grin seems engrained in Sebastian, inevitable when it makes an appearance. It’s the one that gets Sebastian punished.

It’s the grin that Kurt adores.

“ _Preppy_ …”

“I enjoy it because I love pampering you, Master,” Sebastian says, impatient to give a true answer. “I enjoy it because I get to spend time alone with you.”

Sebastian snickers.

“What?” Kurt snaps, but not harshly. He doesn’t want Sebastian’s grin to disappear at an assumption of Kurt’s disapproval.

Kurt needs it to stick around so he has an excuse to play dirty later on.

Sebastian almost can’t stop snickering to respond. “It helps that you don’t have demon monster feet.”

“So you like my feet, preppy?” Kurt asks, wiggling his toes.

“You do have very attractive feet, Master.” Sebastian waits for Kurt to stop wriggling, then he places an open-mouth kiss to the top of the left one. He dips his brush back in the bottle, pulls it out, wipes off the excess on the lip, then moves on to paint the next unpolished nail. It’s so thought out, so methodical. “May I ask you a question, Master?”

Kurt gazes down between his legs at his young sub, eyes glued to his work, but his face screwed into a mask partially made of worry. “You may.”

“Why do you keep asking me questions like that, Master?” Sebastian cocks his head, eyes dancing up briefly to Kurt’s face. “Why do you question my loyalty to you?”

“I’m not questioning it, preppy,” Kurt says, the sigh that follows a combination of insecurity, and a reluctance to move forward with this conversation. “It’s just…” Kurt kind of hates that he’s about to explain this. Why does he always feel the need to explain things to Sebastian? Why can’t he just blow him off like he would any other sub?

Kurt knows why. He knows why things are complicated for him now. But acknowledging it, when he can’t do anything about it, would only make it worse.

Denial’s not just a river in Egypt. As of late, it’s the very blood that runs through Kurt’s veins.

It disgusts him how Biblical that is.

“I mean, you’re eighteen, you’ve got money out the yin-yang, you’re _gorgeous_ …” Kurt pauses for a second when a streak of color rushes up Sebastian’s cheeks. Saying that wouldn’t have put that blush there on the day they met, but now, every little compliment from Kurt makes Sebastian red in the cheeks. Sometimes Kurt finds any reason to compliment Sebastian just to see it. “You could be out, driving around with your friends, going to the movies, or…or hitting up bars with your fake ID, chasing after guys.” Sebastian chuckles, as if that idea is preposterous, and Kurt’s not sure if he’s flattered or annoyed by it. “But instead, you come here every weekend, and you spend it kneeling on my floor, painting my nails, cleaning my toilet, or sucking my dick. Is this really how you want to spend your free time?”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, again, with no hesitation. “This is how I want to spend my weekends” – Sebastian blows lightly over Kurt’s nails in between phrases, the stream of cool breath tickling Kurt’s instep – “kneeling on your floor…painting your nails…cleaning your toilet…and sucking your dick.” Sebastian sits back on his heels and looks up at Kurt, indirectly through his lashes. “I don’t have a single friend whose company is worth a moment of the time I’ve spent with you.”

Kurt’s tempted to ask why. Kurt thinks he sees the reason. He thinks he’s seen the reason over and over, and he doesn’t want to mistake it. But once Sebastian says it, he can’t take it back. He can only deny it, and Kurt can’t subject himself to that.

“What can I do, Master?” Sebastian asks, more like a lover than a sub, that sultry, velvet quality in his boyish voice shooting like an arrow through Kurt’s body, except instead of veering straight to his cock and making it throb, it takes a detour up to his chest and slingshots around his heart until his ribcage feels sore.

Kurt scoots down the bed. He plants his feet on the floor and crouches before his sub, whose eyes have drifted respectfully down, showing Kurt that he recognizes his place. That display of honest submission makes Kurt’s heart pound against those wounds on his ribs, turning them from sore to piercing.

“I’m gonna hook you up,” Kurt says, grabbing hold of Sebastian’s hair and tugging to give him access to his sub’s mouth, “and then you can suck me off. Hmm? How does that sound?”

Sebastian doesn’t have an answer for Kurt, and if he does, Kurt swallows it immediately in a harder than normal kiss - one that brands, one that burns, one that doesn’t leave Sebastian any room to say something he shouldn’t.

Kurt either, for that matter.

“Get up on the bed,” Kurt commands, stepping carefully around the young man on his knees so as not to smudge the fresh polish on his nails, “while I get what I need.”

“Yes, Master.” Sebastian crawls up on to the bed. He’s different now from the boy Kurt met at his club back in September. Lacrosse, plus the addition of swimming and track, have added definition to his legs, arms, and back, and tightened his ass. He slinks across the mattress like a jungle cat - one that might be fierce in the wild, with sharp claws and teeth, but is nothing but a pussy cat here in this cage. But Sebastian’s not trapped here. He comes here of his own free will. All Kurt has ever offered Sebastian is himself, and it’s getting more and more difficult for Kurt to comprehend why Sebastian takes it.

Kurt doesn’t use the hook on Sebastian that often. Sebastian doesn’t understand why since it seems to hang from a place of pride in Kurt’s bedroom. Several of them do, actually, each one more intimidating than the next. The one Kurt chooses is enormous in Sebastian’s eyes, sends a cold shiver down his spine, but he doesn’t care. Whatever Kurt wants, that’s what he’ll do, even if the extraordinary stretch from the humongous ball makes him feel insanely open and vulnerable.

But vulnerable around Kurt isn’t the same as being vulnerable around anyone else.

Being vulnerable around the people in Sebastian’s vanilla life is unbearable, which is why he does everything to avoid feeling that way.

Being vulnerable around Kurt is the first step to being used for his Dom’s pleasure; humiliated for his delight; bound, beaten, and abused; but at heart, cared for. Always cared for.

The first time they used this hook in particular, Sebastian’s body would not relax for Kurt. Sebastian’s mind wanted to obey, but his body felt it knew better. Kurt spanked Sebastian raw, since that usually does the trick, loosening him up. After thirty minutes of open-handed slaps to the ass, Sebastian’s cheeks were red hot, but his hole was still locked up tight. Kurt lubed the thing up to dripping, which made it difficult to handle, but Sebastian’s body still wouldn’t do it. It took Kurt distracting Sebastian, sticking his cock in his sub’s mouth and commanding him to hold his breath, before Kurt could slip it in. The stretch with that huge steel ball felt incredibly intense, spreading him open wide, as if Kurt was trying to slide three fingers in him at once. But once the ball settled, his body registered its heft, its girth, the way it pushed open the walls of his rectum and didn’t let up. When Kurt’s done with the job of securing him, that hook will ensure that Sebastian doesn’t move any more than Kurt wants him to, but while it rests inside him, unmoving, it’s a torturous overload of constant pressure in the one spot that craves it, not letting up, not relenting, not moving. Just _there_.

And Kurt knows, which is why he takes his time tying Sebastian up, stringing the hook to a rope that he wraps around Sebastian’s forehead, pulling his head back and stretching his neck gently. In this position, with Sebastian’s head tilted back, the hook stays in place. Kurt uses the tail of the rope to bind Sebastian’s arms around his elbows, then his wrists. Finally, he ties it off around his ankles, making Sebastian bend his legs at the knees to lift them. Kurt pulls the whole thing taut, the ropes rigged so that if Sebastian moves his head when he sucks Kurt’s cock, the ball of the metal hook rubs against his prostate…and Kurt’s going to make sure he moves his head.

For a boy who balked at the idea of being fucked until he met Kurt, prostate stimulation tips him straight into the abyss every…single…time.

And as a final touch, Kurt blindfolds Sebastian, taking away his sense of sight to focus him in on the _feel_ , not only of the ball up his ass, but of Kurt’s cock filling his mouth, demanding attention.

“How’s that, preppy?” Kurt asks, pushing into Sebastian’s mouth with a few shallows thrusts, then stopping to let Sebastian take over, knowing every bob of his head will move that ball in his ass, rubbing against the one place he needs to leave be if he’s going to concentrate on pleasing his Master. But Kurt can’t help himself. He’s dying to see Sebastian pushed over the brink, forced to work against himself and make him cum beyond his control. “Do you like that?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sebastian mumbles, putting off the unavoidable for as long as possible.

Kurt smirks at Sebastian’s pathetic attempt.

“You’re gonna have to nod for me, baby,” Kurt says. “I don’t understand grunt language.”

Kurt feels Sebastian swallow hard in anticipation, then nod, a weak, stuttered jerk of his head, but with the skillful way Kurt’s rigged the ropes to be sensitive to movement, it’s enough. Sebastian moans around the head of Kurt’s cock as the smooth, steel ball slides a subtle inch, and from the first bob of his head pulling the ropes, driving the hook up, Sebastian almost loses it.

“Come on, preppy,” Kurt says, pushing back on Sebastian’s forehead when he doesn’t move again. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you’re ever going to get unhooked.”

Sebastian breathes out a few times through his nose, preparing himself, gearing up for what’s coming. He knows he’ll be in for a worse punishment if he doesn’t do as he’s told. Kurt could hook him up to the wall after this - his cock caged, blindfolded, ball-gagged, balancing on his tip-toes as he hangs there for hours, maybe even overnight. With the fear of a night hanging from the wall by his ass lodged in his skull (not only because it would be uncomfortable, but mostly because it would keep him from sleeping next to Kurt), Sebastian starts sucking Kurt off, the way he knows Kurt wants, each long suck capped off by a desperate whine and a bodily shudder, produced by the sliding hook and its unyielding steel ball.

Kurt arches his back, his head rolling left and right on his shoulders, surrendering to the decadence of it all – this handsome boy, in essence, tormenting himself, with his mouth on Kurt’s cock, perfect and hot and soaking wet. Kurt gives in to his sadistic side and laughs at Sebastian’s pitiful whimpers, his own coherent thoughts extinguishing one by one with the evacuation of blood from his brain.

“Oh, preppy,” Kurt moans, tightening his grip in Sebastian’s hair till he feels the release of a few strands. “God, that feels good. You’re so good at that. You get good at that at school? You like getting on your knees for other boys, or is this just for me, huh?”

Kurt yanks Sebastian off his cock and shakes his head, expecting an answer. Sebastian sucks in air through his mouth and his nose, having held it while he worked over Kurt’s cock, trying to numb his orgasm, dull needles shooting through his erection with every second of denial.

“It’s…it’s just…for you…Master,” Sebastian coughs out. “No one else…but you…”

“Good,” Kurt purrs, shoving his cock indelicately back into Sebastian’s mouth. “Very good, preppy.”

Kurt feels Sebastian groan around his shaft, frustration rippling through his muscles until everything inside aches. Sebastian’s close to cumming. The signs are all there – his rolling wrists and ankles, the snuffling breaths out his nose, the low grumble as he tries his hardest to stave of his orgasm in favor of making Kurt cum, and then hoping he gets permission, fighting nature and biology and physiology and all of those other things that are impossible to defy.

“Faster, preppy,” Kurt commands, his knees shaking. “I want to see that head of yours move.”

There’s a quick outtake of breath against his pelvis, and a whimper as Sebastian rushes to comply, then a cry, his body shaking, the ropes pulling from every direction, dragged taut by his wrists, his elbows, his ankles.

“That’s it, preppy,” Kurt says, his voice dissolving into breath. “Keep it up. Keep going. I’m almost there. And once I’m done, we’ll see about you, huh? Would you like to cum, preppy? Would you like that?”

Sebastian’s grunt of acknowledgement sounds more like a sob, and it pleases Kurt. Pleases him to the point that he forgets he was going to ruin this orgasm for Sebastian – stop him after he came and clamp hard on his balls, leaving him to writhe and wither in a cum-soaked wet spot on his satin sheets. But Kurt can’t bring himself to do it. Not after this sublime feeling washes through him, with his beautiful boy’s throat swallowing around him, the flat of his tongue lapping at him in long strokes, giving Kurt everything he wants even though nothing for Sebastian is guaranteed.

Kurt will let Sebastian have this orgasm, this one that neither of them can stop…but he’ll make him suffer for it later.

“Tsk-tsk, preppy,” Kurt mutters, working himself through to the end with a few thrusts of his hips as he starts to go soft, “you messed my sheets again. I'm going to have you sucking those things clean if you keep that up.”

“Yes…Master,” Sebastian pants. He shifts slightly on the mattress, seeking out a comfortable position without looking like that’s what he’s doing. Kurt wonders if, behind his blindfold, Sebastian thinks he’s succeeding. But Kurt will let that slide…for now. He looks at his sub, admires the way his limbs look bound in this position, the tense muscles trying their best to relax when there’s nowhere within their confines for them to go, and that uncompromising hook, settling back into place to torture him some more.

Just like this, Sebastian’s breathtaking - absolutely statuesque.

“I think I’ll just leave you here for now, preppy,” Kurt says, giving Sebastian’s crimson streaked cheek a slap, “while I go have a cigarette and grab myself a beer. And then, maybe, I’ll come back for round two. What do you think?”

“If that…makes you happy…Master,” Sebastian says in a serene voice, “then…I’m happy.”

“Good,” Kurt purrs, but with a catch in his normally conceited tone. “Very good.” Kurt walks away from the bed, toward the door to the room, his footsteps purposefully heavy so that Sebastian hears him go.

But Kurt doesn’t leave. He stands in the doorway, watching his sub lie on the bed, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. He waits for any sign of disobedience – a shift of uncomfortable limbs, an attempt to stretch, or to tease himself with the ball thrust up his ass. But Sebastian doesn’t move. He lies still - so incredibly devoted, so patient, so handsome. This young, hot piece of ass, so willing to lie and wait for his Dom to return, and Kurt trained him to be that way. In all aspects, Kurt should be tremendously proud of himself. Kurt took this cocky, smug, smart-aleck boy and turned him into a model sub.

And Kurt has to wonder - what has he done?


	24. A Dalton Boy in the Hot Seat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian gets called in to the Dean's office, on a Friday afternoon, only two hours before he's supposed to leave for his usual weekend with Kurt, and he can more than guess who's to blame.

Sebastian strolls down the quiet hallway, feigning relaxed even though no one’s around to see him in an attempt to keep his cool. He looks at the pink slip in his hand with mild disdain, but a slight aftertaste of cold creeping fear.

The Dean.

He’s being sent to see the Dean.

It’s not that Sebastian is particularly frightened of Dean Carmichael. After all, he’s done nothing wrong. But there’s still a healthy amount of dread behind being called to his office anyway.

“This is just high school. In the grand scheme of things, it means nothing,” he repeats to himself with a calming breath, similar to the words he said when he blew off Jamie and Hunter.

He believed every word he threw at those two crap buckets, but whether high school matters or not, he still doesn’t want to be expelled.

Sebastian inhales, ready to repeat those words again, but his internalized slogan becomes a realized groan. _Hunter_. Why didn’t he think of it before? This has Hunter’s foul stench all over it.

Sebastian hasn’t necessarily been making an effort to play it straighter than usual at school, but he also hasn’t really had the time to get into mischief. He’s been far less of a presence on campus since he met Kurt. He hasn’t pulled any pranks, hasn’t blackmailed anyone, and he definitely hasn’t been “fraternizing” with students after hours, something which he had been told on several occasions that Dalton Academy frowned upon. He’s been maintaining his grades, keeping up his spot on the lacrosse team and in The Warblers, but otherwise he’s a ghost at Dalton. He hasn’t caused any kind of stir or done anything untoward, so the only explanation for why he’s being yanked out of history class on a Friday afternoon and sent to see the Dean is Hunter. Hunter, with the help of Jamie and God knows who else, must have said something.

Intimidation tactic part two.

It would seem that Hunter is getting desperate if he thinks _this_ is going to rattle Sebastian, though why he’s trying so hard to keep Sebastian in line is the answer that keeps eluding him. Why does Hunter care so God dammed much what Sebastian does outside of school? What does he have invested in keeping Sebastian under his thumb?

Sebastian approaches the office and waves hello to Belinda, the receptionist - a rail thin woman in her early fifties with pale green eyes, pale pink skin, and pale, frothy blonde hair - sitting at a desk outside the door. She smiles warmly, greeting him with a, “Hello, Sebastian. Long time, no see.”

“Shocking, I know,” he responds with a wink. He holds up his pink slip. “I’m here to see the Dean.”

“Yes, he’s expecting you,” she says, nodding towards the door. “Go right on in, dear.”

Sebastian looks at the door and sighs, the flimsy piece of paper feeling heavy in his hand. He doesn’t need this. In two short hours, he would have been out of class, in his car, and on his way to see Kurt. He doesn’t need the delay. He doesn’t want to be punished when he hasn’t done anything wrong, or have a privilege taken away because of Hunter, that little turd-burglar.

Sebastian has to question if Hunter knows that. If he does, he probably planned for it.

Sebastian wonders how much Hunter knows about him and Kurt…and how he gets his information.

Belinda had told Sebastian to walk on in, but he doesn’t feel right doing so without knocking. It’s a habit his father ingrained in him, never to walk into his office without announcing himself first. His father is a strict man, but Sebastian wasn’t ever disciplined for forgetting. But his father has a _way_ about him. Sebastian knows his father loves him, but there’s still something kind of intimidating about him, something that makes him difficult to talk to.

Sebastian doesn’t like disappointing him, which is another reason he’s not too thrilled with this meeting. The last time Sebastian saw his father, to discuss the building Sebastian wanted as his graduation gift, he seemed so proud of Sebastian. Sebastian doesn’t feel like fucking that up.

Sebastian gives the door three raps.

“Come in, Sebastian.”

Sebastian takes one last look at Belinda smiling sympathetically up at him, then opens the door and walks inside. This feels exactly like going into his dad’s office at home – the same wood door, the same wood furniture, the same desk, the same chairs. Sebastian’s dad was a Dalton boy once. He probably took his design cues from here after he left, the classic look of _success_.

“Good afternoon, Sebastian.” The man behind the desk rises to greet him, and Sebastian’s sense of déjà vu intensifies since Dean Carmichael even sort of reminds Sebastian of his dad – same spattering of white threaded throughout his brown hair, marking him as distinguished since these aging men of business never simply _grew old_ ; similar stature, tall and lean, with enviable posture; and critical green eyes peering out from behind the lenses of wire-rimmed glasses, the frames sleek and understated despite their exorbitant price tag. He extends a hand to Sebastian, and Sebastian shakes it.

“Good afternoon, Dean Carmichael.”

“Thank you for coming to see me.”

Sebastian holds back a smirk. _Thank you for coming to see me._ Dean Carmichael always says that, as if this were some kind of casual lunch date. Was that pink slip an invitation for coffee and chit-chat? Did Sebastian really have a choice as to whether or not he could go? Because if he did, God knows he wouldn’t be there.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” the Dean says. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“What is it, sir?” Sebastian grimaces when he calls the Dean _sir_. He had never really given any thought to calling the Dean, or anyone, _sir_ before. It was a title, nothing more. Just a common way of showing respect.

But having Kurt as his Master, his Dom, his one and only, Sebastian doesn’t like throwing that title around.

He doesn’t like using it for anyone else. Not everyone deserves it.

“I don’t want to beat around the bush,” the Dean starts. “You’re an intelligent, rational young man, and I would like to treat you as one, so I’m just going to come out and say what I have to say.”

“Okay,” Sebastian says.

“It’s been brought to my attention that you may be hurting yourself. Or that someone else may be hurting you.”

Sebastian absorbs this revelation slowly. He kind of suspected that was what this meeting would be about, but he somehow wasn’t prepared to hear that sentence come from the mouth of Dean Carmichael.

“May I ask why you think this?” Sebastian asks.

“Several of your classmates have reported seeing marks on your back and legs, specifically ones that they describe as burns and bruises.”

Sebastian nods, wondering how much wiggle room he has here to get some information. “Would you mind my asking who told you this?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources,” the Dean says, utterly nonplussed, “but if you _are_ involved in something, or with _someone_ , that is hurting you, then I need to know about it as soon as possible.”

Sebastian is tempted to roll his eyes, but regardless of what he has or has not done, he’s really not in a position to defy the Dean.

He wants to make it to Kurt’s house on time.

Sebastian can’t remember the last time he was called to the Dean’s office or why, but honestly, Sebastian only has himself to blame for this one. He did tell Hunter to do whatever it was he was going to do, and he obviously did it. Sebastian _loathes_ Hunter. He likes to poke fun at Hunter’s intelligence behind his back, but he knows that Hunter’s not an idiot. This attempt is stupid, but it’s less lame than trying to get him back together with Jamie, something Hunter probably knew from the get-go had no chance of actually succeeding, so it can’t be the only thing in his arsenal.

His attacks must get progressively worse from here. This has to be some kind of warning.

Still, Sebastian can’t find a reason to worry. He knows in the end that he’s virtually untouchable, but he doesn’t like being fucked with.

And above all, he won’t let Hunter fuck with Kurt.

“Look…” Sebastian sighs, hating the position he’s in, hating Hunter with a burning passion for putting him in this situation. “I’m eighteen-years-old, which means that I’m a legal adult. And what I do with my body or who I see is my business.”

“Yes,” the Dean agrees, “but you are a full time resident here at Dalton. Your parents pay us to educate you, but we also assume the responsibility of looking after your health and ensuring your safety.”

“ _While_ I’m at Dalton,” Sebastian says. “But the marks that these students claim they’ve seen…” Sebastian pauses for a breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. He can’t afford to get riled up over this. “I promise you that if they do exist, they didn’t happen on school grounds. Otherwise, I swear, I would have come to you. So you have nothing to worry about.”

“Then, just for my own peace of mind, could you enlighten me as to the source of these marks?”

Sebastian swallows. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”

“Sebastian” - The Dean sits up straighter, but it doesn’t give him much leverage as he and Sebastian are close to the same height - “you’re not just any student here at Dalton. You have been with us for the past three-and-a-half years, and you attended our preparatory school before that. I would like to think that makes us a part of your family. So as a concerned family member, please, tell me why I have nothing to worry about?”

Sebastian thinks about the Dean’s question, considers the implications of giving him an honest answer. It would be the easiest thing for him to do. He’s not above lying to Dean Carmichael to protect himself and Kurt, but it would be nice if he didn’t have to.

“You can’t make me tell you.”

The Dean raises a brow at Sebastian’s polite but firm tone. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I can’t. “

Score one point for me, Sebastian thinks, feeling the tiniest bit relieved. The Dean agreed, which is something, but he hasn’t dismissed Sebastian yet, and that puts them at somewhat of a stalemate. The next move is Sebastian’s, and the Dean is not going to let him leave until he makes it.

“Alright,” Sebastian says, eager to move the conversation along and get the hell out of there. “I’m not going to pussyfoot around because I don’t want to insult your intelligence.”

“I appreciate that,” the Dean says, looking triumphant.

“So I’m going to be honest,” Sebastian continues, the confidence in his voice wavering. “ _Uncomfortably_ …honest.”

The Dean’s eyes open wide. “Alright. Go ahead.”

“I have…a boyfriend,” Sebastian says, for lack of a more accurate, less scandalous term than Dominant. “An _older_ boyfriend. And he has…particular tastes. Tastes that I share.” Sebastian watches as the Dean’s face goes from curious, to concerned, to blank. “We have a consensual relationship,” Sebastian hurries to fill in, “and that extends to any _hypothetical_ marks.”

The Dean folds his hands on his desk, fingers locked together tight. He taps the edge of his blotter with the knuckle of his pinkie finger as he calculates his next move. “I see,” he says. “You know, far be it for me to criticize the nature of your _relationship_ , but I would think that, being a Dalton student, you might pursue a _different_ caliber of gentleman.”

“Actually, Dean Carmichael” - Sebastian glances down at his lap, at the starched cuff of his white dress shirt covering his wrist, concealing some impressive rope burns, and chuckles at the irony – “he happens to be a Dalton alum.”

Dean Carmichael huffs. “I find that hard to believe.” His eyebrows lift, as if he’s had a thought, but it disappears just as quickly without Sebastian noticing the change.

“Well, believe it or not, it’s the truth.” Sebastian shrugs. “I don’t have a reason to lie to you about that, sir.”

“I see.” The Dean pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes in a display of minor frustration. “Well, as much as I would like to discourage you from continuing a relationship that causes you bodily injury, there’s really nothing I can do to stop you. You’re right. You’re a legal adult, and regardless of a few blights with regard to your behavior over the last few years, you are an exceptional pupil. Dalton has been fortunate to count you among her students.”

Sebastian smiles humbly. In all his time at Dalton Academy, no one has ever said that to him.

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”

“So I will have to defer to your judgement…for now. But if this relationship interferes with your health or your studies, I might find a need to intervene.”

“Understood, sir.” Sebastian bites the corner of his lip. He’s not comfortable revealing too much about his private life to the Dalton Academy Dean of Students, but he wants this matter put to rest. “But so you know, I have been seeing this man since the beginning of the school year, and neither you nor my teachers have heard about it until now. If I were you, I might consider the source of your information.”

The Dean nods. “Fair enough.” He tears a sheet from a notepad on his desk, a memo that had apparently been written out and signed before Sebastian arrived. “Give this to your professor when you return to class. You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sebastian takes the note from the Dean’s hand and rises from his seat. He takes a moment to shake the Dean’s hand, but he feels like bolting for the door. That was literally the most uncomfortable meeting of his life, including the time about three years ago when his father decided they needed to have _the talk_. Little did his dad know that Sebastian had been having sex for over a year prior to that discussion, but Sebastian didn’t have the power to stop him.

Sebastian heads for the door, having to consciously focus on not breaking into a run. Behind him, Sebastian hears the Dean shuffling about his desk and assumes he’s going back to whatever it is he does during the school day, until he hears the man clear his throat.

Then he knows something else is coming.

“Mr. Smythe?”

Sebastian stops in his tracks, a mere foot from the door.

 _Damn_.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you indulge me one more time and answer a final question for me?”

Sebastian doesn’t want to stop. He’s so close to freedom. But if this clears things up enough that he doesn’t get sent here again, then it’ll be worth the inconvenience of a few more minutes.

“Absolutely. What is it, sir?”

“Why would you enter in to such a relationship?” Dean Carmichael asks. “More importantly, why would you continue it?”

Sebastian has an answer. Lately, it’s become the easiest question in the world to answer. He’s said it to himself dozens of times, said it to the mirror as he gets dressed, going over in his head the occasion which he’ll be able to say it to Kurt for the first time. But he hasn’t ever said it out loud where someone else can hear. Now might be a good time to test it out, to see if it’s convincing to someone other than him.

“Honestly, sir?”

“Of course, Mr. Smythe.”

“Because” – A smile slips on to Sebastian’s lips before he’s aware of it, his usual poker face completely gone. God, he can’t believe he’s about to say this, especially not to the Dean – “I love him.”

The Dean hmphs, but it’s such a non-committal sound that Sebastian doesn’t know if he accepts that as an answer…or if he’s disappointed.

Sebastian doesn’t care. He’s simply curious.

“Very well, Mr. Smythe,” the Dean says. He doesn’t appear too happy about the way this conversation has ended, but with Sebastian being a legal adult who doesn’t appear to be in any danger, certainly not in the way it was made out to him, there’s very little he can do. “You may return to class. Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you, Dean Carmichael,” Sebastian says, rushing out the door and breathing a sigh of relief that he got out of this unscathed. In reality, the Dean didn’t have to be as lenient as he was. Dalton’s policy that allows students to anonymously report a fellow student who might be in danger from themselves or others actually gives Dean Carmichael a fair amount of legal authority. Sebastian was holding hard to the fact that his being a legal adult was his ace in the hole, his immunity, but the Dean could have called in Sebastian’s parents.

He could have brought in the police.

Fucking Hunter, and his fucking interfering into Sebastian’s life. This is only Hunter’s second attempt to screw with him, but Sebastian has already had enough. One way or another, Sebastian is going to have to find a way of dealing with him.


	25. A Dalton Boy on Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Kurt realizes just how hot it is to have sex with his sub when his sub is cold, he starts to crave it. He takes it a step further by lowering Sebastian's temperature ... on one particular part of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for anal hooks, cold play, testicle cuffs, and recreational Viagra use. Written for the Bitchmas (on Tumblr) prompt 'icicle' with an extra helping of 'hook'.

“Keep counting, preppy.”

“15 … 16 … 17 …”

“I can’t hear you, preppy.” Kurt peeks into the bedroom to check Sebastian’s progress. There he is, right where Kurt left him, kneeling on the floor, arms tied in a gauntlet from his wrists to his biceps behind his back, his cock and balls bathing in a squat, plastic bowl of fresh, evening snow.

Head bowed, Sebastian doesn’t see Kurt checking in on him. That’s the way Kurt wants it. He needs to know that his boy is doing what he’s supposed to when he thinks no one is watching.

And he is. From the indents in the snow to the masking tape marks on the floor, where his knees rest dead center, Kurt knows that Sebastian hasn’t moved an inch. Kurt couldn’t be prouder.

He’s not going to mention it though. No need to let it go to Sebastian’s head, make the little prick more conceited than he is.

Sebastian pinches trembling lips together and starts up again where he left off.

“18 … 19 … 20 …”

Kurt smiles. “Good boy.”

He glances at the bowl of snow cradling Sebastian’s junk and sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth. He wouldn’t want to be where Sebastian is right now. Kurt runs hot, always has. In everything he is and everything he does, he’s the definition of a hot-blooded animal. His favorite form of sensation play is heat. He revels in melted wax on his skin, the head of a match or the tip of a lit cigarette extinguished on his flesh. That spark of anticipation before the first touch that jumpstarts his heart, the initial burn on contact, the soothing ache after – those are but a few of Kurt’s masochistic turn-ons.

Sebastian, on the other hand, seems to favor the cold. Or, at least, it doesn’t bother him. It’s been below forty outside lately. Kurt has been battling it by bundling up, layering Henleys and t-shirts over his tank tops, wearing thermals underneath his jeans. But his subby little showoff seems to have a thing about wearing just the thinnest jacket with no gloves, no scarf, and no hat, which means his skin is freezing cold when Kurt touches it, his hair wet with clinging snowflakes that drip down the collar of Kurt’s shirts and roll down his spine.

At first, it was annoying as shit, and Kurt would punish Sebastian for coming to his house in that condition. (Also, secretly, for not taking better care of himself and courting pneumonia, but Kurt won’t own up to that one.) But more and more, that contrast between Kurt’s hot skin and Sebastian being cold is something that Kurt craves. That flash of electricity between them, that erotic chill when their bodies combine - Kurt needs more of it. What he’s getting isn’t enough. He needs to feel it everywhere – outside _and_ inside.

“26 … 27 … 28 …”

“Keep counting, preppy. I need to hear you get to 50.”

 _50? Fuck!_ Sebastian shifts only a hair above the bowl so Kurt won’t notice. His thighs ache in this low kneel, legs spread wide. His cuffed balls, trying their hardest to retreat to the shelter of his body, but obstructed by a cruel ring of metal, have effectively gone numb.

“M-master?”

“Yes, preppy?”

“I d-don’t know h-how you expect me to get h-hard after this, M-master.”

“Oh, you’ll get hard alright,” Kurt mutters, a grin twitching his lips for his genius plan. “That’s what that little blue pill you took was for.”

Sebastian swallows reflexively. An uncomfortable flush climbs his throat. It’s unnaturally warm, so it has to be a side-effect. Sebastian suspected that Kurt had given him Viagra when he walked through the door. Kurt didn’t give him a second to think, just popped the pill in his mouth, and Sebastian, the obedient sub he is, swallowed it without question. Sebastian had only seen the pill for a second, but that was enough to make an educated guess.

He didn’t ask. Better to remain ignorant and earn the chance to fuck his Master than to ask a stupid question and get left alone in the corner with a raging hard-on.

Kurt strolls into the room for an inspection. He’s been walking around the bedroom naked, showing his sub everything he can’t have. Occasionally he’d stop to shove his cock in Sebastian’s mouth, get it wet, let him choke on it, then he’d leave him salivating. Kurt crouches in front of his sub where he can see Sebastian’s lowered eyelids, watch his face for a reaction. He picks up a handful of snow from the bowl, wraps his fingers around his sub’s cock, and starts to stroke. The heat from Kurt’s hand, radiating through the melting snow, burns, but the mechanical stimulation, along with Kurt’s strutting, helps the medication take effect. Cold balls or no, Sebastian starts to get hard in Kurt’s hand.

“You d-do know that V-Viagra can make you hard for up to five hours. Right, Master?”

Kurt arches an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Kurt gives Sebastian’s cock a few more quick strokes. He follows with a few hard slaps. When Sebastian’s erection doesn’t die, Kurt decides he’s ready. “All right, preppy. Let’s get you up.”

Sebastian had found a groove in the floor, in the center of the taped ‘x’s, that kept him from sliding, but now that he has to leave it, his legs refuse to cooperate. Without his arms to aid him, he has to lurch upward using his hips, while Kurt sits on the bed and watches. With one foot flat, it’s a struggle to put his weight on that leg, his knee locked, his glutes frozen. He manages to rise up awkwardly, unbending the other leg in the process, but that leg is no more helpful than the first one. He tries for one lunge up with all of his weight behind it, and almost flies face first into Kurt’s bed frame.

“Now, now, now …” Kurt grabs Sebastian’s arm and helps him forward “… I don’t want you breaking your neck before I’m done with you.”

“Th-that’s v-very considerate of you, M-master,” Sebastian says, his tone respectful, but Kurt can smell the bullshit.

“Well, I put a lot of time and effort into this plan. It would be a shame to have that all go to waste.”

Sebastian grimaces as Kurt maneuvers him, first his right leg, then his left, onto the mattress. He wobbles back and forth, crawling high on his knees. He spots the pulley above his head, threaded with rope. Sebastian had noticed Kurt climbing on the bed to fiddle with that pulley while he knelt on the floor. Seeing the rope dangling from it at about waist level makes his gut queasy.

“I know your knees must be killing you …” Kurt leaves Sebastian on the bed and goes to his closet “… so I’m gonna help you out.” He comes back carrying one of his favorite silver hooks. It’s a good thing Kurt demands that Sebastian keep his head bowed unless commanded otherwise. Sebastian can’t even look at the thing. Every time he does, he imagines himself impaled on it like some sort of sports fish. Kurt lubes it up, the knob end about the size of a ping pong ball. He pulls out Sebastian’s plug and hooks him, maneuvering the slick end into Sebastian’s gape with an ease that comes from training.

The plug that Sebastian wears on the daily makes the ball on the end of that hook look like a Dum-Dum lollipop.

Kurt attaches the loop end of the hook to the hanging rope and knots it securely. Then he hoists the slack, pulling until the rope becomes taut, which forces Sebastian straight like a marionette, cramping legs or not. When he has Sebastian how he wants him, he ties off the tail on the bed frame.

Kurt plucks the rope like a guitar string, snickering when Sebastian groans in the back of his throat.

“Okey-dokey.” Kurt climbs onto the bed himself, not using any care to keep the mattress from rocking. He smiles on the sly knowing that his sub is gritting his teeth with every bit of pressure Kurt places on the mattress, every shift and shake. “Let’s get your rocks rolling, shall we? Don’t need you heating up. I’ll have to stick your dick back in that bowl.”

This time, it’s a gulp Kurt hears behind him, loud enough to make a sound.

Kurt preps himself with a dollop of lube on the frigid head of Sebastian’s cock, teasing his hole open with it, stretching himself over it. There’s a deeply satisfying pleasure to the sear that comes with the stretch. It’s fulfilling to have it, to experience. Like the brand on Sebastian’s shoulder, it marks Kurt. He gets to keep it. His muscle memory records it.

No one in his life will ever hurt him this same way again.

He slides himself down on Sebastian’s cock, taking it fast so that Sebastian can’t adjust to Kurt’s heat.

Kurt wants what’s cold for him to burn for his boy.

“ _God_ ,” Kurt moans, disregarding the puff of breath from Sebastian, his exhalation of pain. “It’s like riding a fucking icicle!”

Keeping his ass still, Kurt slinks his upper body, cat-like, up the mattress. He curls his fingers into the fitted sheet and pulls, a shiver racing down his spine. “Jesus _Christ_.”

“What do you think of that, Master?” Sebastian asks, sounding smug when he has no reason to be. Because what did he do, really, other than kneel on the floor with his dick in a bowl of snow for an hour?

But Sebastian wouldn’t be Kurt’s prince if he wasn’t a smug little bastard. And besides, Kurt has to give credit where credit is due.

Sebastian did what he was told.

Kurt looks over his shoulder, a satisfied grin spreading without even a single thrust taken. “I think this is about to be the greatest five hours of my life.”

 


	26. A Dalton Boy in Candy Cane Stockings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt decides to play with Sebastian’s limits by dressing him up in lingerie and having him put on a show for his customers - accompanied by a female slave on her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m jumping all the sharks here. Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompts cane, green, sing, decorate, and probably a couple of others I tossed in there that I’m forgetting, and all of the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts from audience to tacky. 
> 
> Warnings for Dom/sub, Sebastian wearing lingerie and heels, Sebastian with someone else, Kurt and Elliott getting kinky, and oral.

“How do you swing, preppy?” Sitting in his chair in his office, Kurt wiggles the toes of his bare right foot against his sub’s crotch while Sebastian massages the left.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean, Master?” Sebastian grabs Kurt’s bottle of citrus massage oil and squeezes a few more drops in his palm. He presses his hands together to warm it up, then goes back to giving Kurt a massage.

“I mean, how fragile is your masculinity?” Kurt raises his head from where it’s resting over the back of his chair to look at his boy when he answers.

“I would like to think not all that fragile, Master.” Sebastian leans back a hair when Kurt’s right foot goes from wiggling to rubbing.

“Hmm, I wonder …” Kurt’s not disbelieving. He’s curious. But most of all, he’s ready to have some fun. “How about I put that to a test? I’m sure you won’t mind, will you?” Kurt says, passing Sebastian a towel from the desk behind him.

“Not at all, Master.” Sebastian takes the towel and pats Kurt’s feet dry. Then he helps him on with his black patent leather stiletto boots. Kurt hasn’t gotten past being amused by this, but he accepts it as part of their dynamic without questioning it, even though the thought of this handsome trust fund baby catering to his every whim so obediently still gives him a tickle.

“There’s my good boy, helping me get dressed,” Kurt coos, patting Sebastian on the head as more and more ideas flood his brain. “But now, it’s my turn to get you dressed, and after that, you’ll put a show on for me …” Kurt pauses as a final intriguing idea pops into his brain, a sudden rush of inspiration “… with one of our slaves on the floor.”

The end of that sentence rises up like a question, because this is something new. Something they haven’t discussed in quite this way before. Kurt and Sebastian have done a lot at Kurt’s club in the way of giving Kurt’s patrons a show. But having Sebastian interact with another submissive isn’t something they’ve done before. Kurt is planning on pushing Sebastian’s limits, but, with the period after his sentence carrying on into silence, he’s giving Sebastian the chance to safeword before they do anything if he needs to.

“Whatever makes you happy, Master,” Sebastian says.

Kurt grins, proud and devious all rolled together to make Sebastian’s stomach flip. “Good,” Kurt says, commanding Sebastian to his feet with a tug of his hair. “Because this will _definitely_ make me happy.” Kurt strips Sebastian of his Dalton blazer; unties his neck tie and slips it off his neck. When Kurt gets to his dress shirt, reflexively grabbing the buttoned front, he pauses. “What does this make? An even dozen now? How many of these do you have left?”

Sebastian smirks, even though he’s not technically supposed to, but Kurt seems to have stopped calling him out on it. If Sebastian had to guess, he’d say that his cocky grin turns Kurt on. “Consider them _endless_ , Master.”

“Fantastic!” Kurt yanks it open with an aggressive amount of force causing the buttons to pop, flying in every direction. “Because it’s just so damn satisfying ripping these motherfuckers off you.”

***

Sebastian stares at himself in the mirror, at the outfit he’s wearing (even though there isn’t that much _outfit_ to it) and wonders – what is it with Kurt and playing dress up? He guesses it’s part of the BDSM milieu. Most of Kurt’s clientele wear clothing that few people would wear outside their house unless they were between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five and worked at Hot Topic. The amount of leather and spikes alone is mindboggling, and, of course, just plain bare skin seems to be the norm. But a fair share of the subs that come to _Pavarotti’s Prison_ dress the way Sebastian is now.

In lingerie.

“This is from my _personal_ collection,” Kurt remarks, fitting red satin panties over Sebastian’s crotch and tying them at the hips. They have fairly full-ass coverage, which Sebastian is thankful for, since he’s not too fond of flashing the silver butt plug Kurt has him wear to school. “Had to have it special-ordered. And before you ask, yes, I’ve worn this before … for very _special_ occasions.” Sebastian looks at his reflection in Kurt’s full-length mirror, takes in the sight of himself dressed in a sparkly red garter belt, red satin panties, and red-and-white candy cane striped stockings. The set comes with a red bra, but Kurt decided to eschew it, especially when it started to stretch at the seams along the underwire cups. It seems that Sebastian is slightly broader around the chest than Kurt, which earns Sebastian a pinch on the ass. However, Kurt is all for Sebastian wearing the tiny, sheer red skirt, which he fits over the panties with a lot of gratuitous crotch grabbing involved.

Sebastian can’t narrow down what exactly he hates about wearing this, because the truly hideous thing about it is he doesn’t think he looks half bad. Thank God for lacrosse and puberty, because he can honestly say that otherwise he’s not sure he’d have the balls to put this on, knowing that he’s expected to go where other people can see. Up on Kurt’s stage is about as visible as you can get at his club, unless you want to stand on the bar, which Kurt doesn’t normally allow. Apparently it’s a health violation.

Sebastian originally found that an ironic rule to have in a place where people cum over surfaces fairly regularly, but Kurt and Elliott are sticklers for ensuring that everyone “cums clean”, with Lysol wipes available beside the napkin dispensers on every table.

“May I ask why you have this, Master?” Sebastian asks after trying to determine for himself the advantage of owning something this flimsy and revealing. He’s almost afraid to move in it. One wrong squat or knee bend and he’s sure he’ll shred the fabric.

This outfit may be tacky, but it belongs to Kurt. He doesn’t want to risk destroying it.

“Because I like wearing it, preppy,” Kurt says with no shame. “It’s soft, it’s sexy, and I happen to think I look _amazing_ in it.” Kurt smiles, tracing the waist of the panties, skirting exposed skin with his fingertips to watch Sebastian’s ab muscles twitch. Sebastian is ticklish to light touches just above his hips, and in the dip of his stomach where it borders his pelvis. So Kurt attacks that area as often as possible – with his teeth and his tongue, with his fingertips and his feathers, with his Wartenberg wheel and his Violet Wand.

Kurt wonders if Sebastian knew that he was sensitive to touch there before he met Kurt, or is that a secret that Kurt ferreted out.

Kurt prefers to believe that that secret belongs to him, regardless of how, with the amount of sex Sebastian claims to have had, improbable. It keeps him from wanting to drive down to Dalton and start caning random boys. Kurt doesn’t really know Sebastian’s _type_ , so that condemns the entire student body.

For one reason or another, they’re all on his list.

“Just like you, preppy,” he adds, licking his lips when he notices the skirt shift, Sebastian’s cock underneath starting to get hard. “You look incredibly _sexy_ in this.”

“Thank you, Master.” Sebastian feels his cheeks go red. _Good,_ he thinks, trying to come up with something to stop his cock from getting hard without permission – a skill he’s failing at mastering every single day _. They’ll match your panties now._

Kurt circles his sub, looking him over from top to bottom, front and back, cupping his ass, then sliding his hands forward to adjust the satin fabric over Sebastian’s package, giving him a hard squeeze to keep him under control.

“Now all I need to do is get you some shoes,” he whispers behind Sebastian’s ear, “and a little bit of makeup, and we’re ready to roll.” Kurt locks eyes with his sub watching him in the mirror. “You _are_ ready, aren’t you?”

“Green, Master,” Sebastian says, knowing that that’s what Kurt needs to hear. Beating around the bush, saying anything else, would leave Kurt with doubts.

“Good.” Kurt chuckles. It’s dark, it’s sinful, it’s seductive in its cunning. It makes Sebastian long for Kurt to tie him down, no bed required, paddle him, hook him, even burn him with his cloves, as long as he can have Kurt bouncing on his cock afterwards. It wouldn’t even matter if Kurt didn’t let him cum. Sebastian has learned that denial is not the death sentence he thought it was. It can be release, euphoria, as long as it is in service to his Master … and as long as it comes with Kurt’s inescapable heat, his addictive moans, his gasps, where Sebastian’s name slips between the cracks of Kurt calling him _preppy_. Dare to dream … “Because I can’t wait for everyone to get a look at you.”

***

Walking in heels is not what it’s cracked up to be. The shoes fit, but they pinch his toes, and he can’t seem to keep his feet from sliding forward. Plus, why he needs to stand an additional seven inches off the ground when he’s already over six feet tall, he can’t comprehend. Kurt said that high heels are meant to lengthen the leg and emphasize the ass. Right now, Sebastian feels like his knees are bending backwards and his butt is sticking out. He can’t decide _how_ to walk in them either. If he tries to stride along the way he does in his regular shoes, he looks clunky and sounds like a mule, clopping on the hard floor. If he goes for sultry, one foot in front of the other, it throws his center of gravity off. His shoulders pull him back, putting an awkward lean in his spine. A few times, he’s even stumbled into reverse. If it hadn’t been for the collar around his neck, attached to the silver chain leash Kurt is holding, Sebastian might have hit the deck, breaking an ankle and his neck in the process.

He’ll never make fun of a woman running competently in heels again.

The makeup is another thing. Sebastian can’t escape it. It makes its presence known nonstop even though it’s basically a static entity on his skin. The kohl black liner Kurt put on his eyes makes them water. Sebastian has never had anything that resembles a writing implement that close to his eyeball before. As far as he knows, they’re still red. He can feel them burning, the irritation distracting. Blinking alleviates it, but then it comes back, worse than before. The gloss on his lips in ruby red … _that’s_ close to driving him insane. It’s sticky like honey. It dries out his mouth so his lips feel like they’re shrinking. He made the mistake of licking his lips the first time Kurt put it on. Now all he can tastes is silica and sadness.

He would feel ridiculous struggling in this get-up if he weren’t getting so many whistles and compliments that sound genuine. No one’s making fun of him here, no matter how asinine this would be outside these walls. People _want_ him, and they envy Kurt for having him. And if that isn’t a tremendous stroke to his ego, he doesn’t know what is. It’s a bigger boost than he’s felt lately in life with his accomplishments at school, on the lacrosse field, or in competition. The congratulations on a job well done and pats on the back offered by boys who, behind their eyes, are scheming how they’ll one up him next time, or the backhanded compliments he gets from the likes of Hunter, are nothing compared to this. Being paraded by Kurt, making Kurt proud, is a high Sebastian craves.

Even with his head bowed, Sebastian can see people clear their path so that they can cut through the crowd and get to the stage. The stairs terrify Sebastian at first, but Kurt turns around and takes Sebastian’s hand to help him. Kurt’s hand taking his, Kurt leading him, Kurt looking out for his safety, Kurt protecting him – these are things Sebastian has never appreciated before. They’re things he didn’t think he wanted in a relationship. They were things he made fun of people needing. That may have something to do with how he was raised. His father is a dominant man, not in the way Kurt is, but Sebastian can picture parts of them being interchangeable. Sebastian was raised with love; that has nothing to do with this. He was raised to not need anyone, to be independent. What attracted Sebastian to his ex-boyfriend Jamie was the fact that he seemed like a person who needed to be cared for, and Sebastian had wanted that opportunity. When Jamie betrayed him, Sebastian saw all of those things as weaknesses.

That was the only way he could resolve his own behavior in that scenario … and learn to hate Jamie. If Jamie was weak, then he wasn’t worthy of Sebastian. End of story.

But here in Kurt’s club, with Kurt’s hand in his, those things don’t feel like weaknesses. Knowing he has Kurt to lean on, knowing that Kurt has his back - they make Sebastian feel strong.

Knowing that he’s Kurt’s one and only, for however long it lasts, makes Sebastian feel like he can take on the world.

Being Kurt’s submissive has been a journey for Sebastian, one that he could continue to take his entire life and never feel like he’s reached an end.

Kurt does one full lap of the stage with Sebastian trailing behind. The audience gathering around them hoot and holler their approval of Sebastian - Sebastian in lingerie, on a leash, about to perform for his Master’s amusement, and, consequently, _their_ amusement.

Sebastian had forgotten about that for a moment. When Kurt brings him to front and center stage, Sebastian feels his knees turn to jelly.

Kurt looks into Sebastian’s face, searching for signs of distress, and catches a glimpse of apprehension in his eyes.

“Are we still green, preppy?” Kurt asks, only loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

“I am, M-master,” Sebastian says, unable to hide his hiccup at the end.

“Have you gone yellow? It’s fine if you are. We can negotiate around yellow.”

Sebastian takes a breath, counts to three, responds when his voice feels steadier. “No, Master. I’m still green,” he says with determination.

“Okay, then.” Kurt slaps Sebastian’s ass, which earns a laugh from the crowd. “We’re just going to lock you down here …” Kurt walks behind Sebastian and attaches the end of the leash to a hook bolted into the stage floor. He adjusts it until it’s taut, pulling at to keep Sebastian from toppling forward. Then Kurt stands, brushes off his hands. “And now, we need a volunteer.” Kurt steps to the edge of the stage, puts a hand to his mouth, and calls out, “Do I have any slave Owners out there with a bitch I can borrow?”

“Here! Here! Over here!” Sebastian hears several voices call out around the room. “Here! Right here! I’ve got a bitch here that’ll be of service! My bitch here will do you good, Kurt! Over here!”

Kurt searches the room, hand shielding his eyes to see past the bright lights and into the dark club. “Hey!” he yells, then he points, but at whom, Sebastian can’t tell. Standing where he is, unable to walk away from this spot, he can’t see with the light shining in his eyes. “You!” Kurt calls. “The bitch with the red hair! Ponytail!” He puts his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistles like he’s calling a dog. Sebastian hears a man’s voice say, “You heard him!” and then the slap of a palm hitting skin.

That impact – it’s a noise that Sebastian has embedded in his brain by now.

From between the tables and legs of other Dominants, a woman with flaming red hair tied in a ponytail atop her head makes her way on her hands and knees to the stage. She’s wearing black puppy mitts on her hands, and a black rubber tail plug in her ass, the curled end wagging as she crawls. Kurt grabs her by the collar and leads her to Sebastian’s feet. “Kneel, bitch,” he commands, and she does, high on her knees as if she knows why she’s there, what she’s expected to do. Kurt tugs down Sebastian’s red satin panties, bringing them to his knees. Then Kurt snaps his fingers.

“Bitch. Make him hard for me.”

The woman says nothing. She simply does what she’s told, putting her mouth over Sebastian’s flaccid cock. And as she goes to work, mostly suction, very little in the way of technique, as clinical a blowjob as one can get, Kurt stands close, grinning at his sub, watching his face and measuring his reactions – the twitch of his cheek, the muscles in his lip forcing it not to curl, the set of his jaw.

“Relax, preppy,” Kurt commands.

“Yes, Master.”

“Does she make you uncomfortable?”

Sebastian swallows when the slave on her knees does, and he shudders. Her mouth on his cock should feel good, physiologically speaking, but it doesn’t. He’s not uncomfortable, he just never imagined himself in this situation - dressed in lingerie, being blown in front of a crowd, especially not by a woman. He’s a bit confused as to how to process it. It doesn’t repulse him. She’s easy to block out. He’d feel this same way with anyone he wasn’t attracted to, gender notwithstanding. This is just sex. And it’s not even sex really. In fact, this is the least sexual he’s ever felt receiving a blowjob in his whole life. This is _service_. It’s service to his Master. His Master wants to see him dressed in red satin and candy cane stockings. His Master put him in ruby red lipstick and high heels. His Master summoned this slave to suck him off. That’s what this is about. Sebastian isn’t helpless. He isn’t trapped. He has a safeword. He knows he can use it, but there’s no need. Not for this.

“No, Master.”

“No,” Kurt agrees, mouth hovering shy of Sebastian’s red lacquered lips, “because it’s just a mouth, right? Any mouth on your dick’s a good mouth, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good boy.” Kurt grabs Sebastian’s left ass cheek, licks a stripe up his neck. “Now, I’ll give you permission to enjoy that mouth on two conditions: _one_ , you don’t cum, no matter how good she is, and _two_ , you keep your eyes on me. Constant eye contact. No matter what I do, you look into my eyes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

The slave’s teeth rake over his skin. Sebastian tries not to hiss, but he does flinch, lifting his hands an inch and balling them into fists.

“Hand at your sides, preppy,” Kurt scolds. “No touching …”  

Her Owner, who has moved closer to the stage, watches her perform with obvious pride, nodding his head while she sucks as if giving her his silent approval. Sebastian imagines that her Owner must enjoy her immensely. And she’s alright. This isn’t the _worst_ blowjob of his life. But Sebastian’s been spoiled.

She’s not Kurt. She doesn’t even hold a candle.

Kurt walks backward off the stage, staring at Sebastian the entire way, and takes a seat at a table up front. Without Kurt there beside him, Sebastian feels naked, vulnerable. It’s easier to see him sitting up front than it is to see anybody else, so it feels like Sebastian and this puppy slave are giving him a more-or-less private show, but Sebastian prefers the intimacy of Kurt standing beside him.

Sebastian doesn’t know where Elliott comes from. He seems to just appear at Kurt’s table in a puff of smoke. He grabs a chair, flips it around, and straddles it, eyes on Sebastian and the slave the whole time, exceedingly amused by the flush of discomfort and arousal on Sebastian’s skin.

“Hello, Ells. You’re here early,” Kurt says as Elliott sits.

“And I’m glad I am.” Kurt raises his hand, and Elliott takes it. “I would have never guessed that you’d treat us all to such an outstanding show. Whatever did we do to deserve this?”

“Nothing. But … you know … I’m a giver.”

“I saw your boy from across the room. That’s … uh … quite the charming outfit he’s wearing,” Elliott says, but where Sebastian assumes he’s taking the opportunity to poke fun at him, Elliott licks his lips, smiling anew with an expression close to desire.

“Isn’t it though?” Kurt pulls Elliott closer. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I remember. But, I have to say, I think it looks better on you. Sorry, preppy,” he adds in a raised voice, and with a wink.

“True, but I have the body for it. Preppy’s _way_ more muscular than I’ve ever been.” Kurt shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “ _God_ , they look sexy together. Don’t they, Elliott?”

“They do, Kurt. Very convincing, too. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Maybe a little _too_ convincing.” Kurt frowns, his right eyebrow quirking sharply. “You know, if I thought he was actually into it, I might be jealous.”

“Perish the thought! That’s so _unlike_ you, Kurt,” Elliott teases with an overdramatic emphasis that leads Sebastian to believe that, at some point in time, that’s _exactly_ what Kurt was like.

“I know, right?” Kurt says, mimicking Elliott’s tone. The two of them chuckle after, sharing a private joke. “But I know for a fact that my little preppy has a stripe of green running down his middle when it comes to me, too. So why don’t we give him something interesting to look at?”

“Yes,” Elliott says. “Let’s.”

With eyes on Sebastian, Kurt takes Elliott’s hand and snakes it around his torso. Elliott seems to know what Kurt wants because he scoots up behind him, his other hand winding around to join the first in opening the zipper to Kurt’s fly. His right hand sneaks inside Kurt’s jeans to wrap around his cock, a grin on his face as he starts kissing Kurt’s neck. Kurt stares at Sebastian, motions for him to keep his eyes on him while Elliott starts to stroke him.

And Sebastian watches. He watches the instantaneous expression of ecstasy that spreads across Kurt’s face, from his dropped jaw, to his relaxed cheeks, to his eyes, locked on Sebastian’s, wide and shimmering.

Elliott knows what he’s doing. He knows how to touch Kurt, how to please him. He doesn’t have to fumble around, practice with speed and pressure, experiment with twists of his wrist.

Because Elliott has done this countless times before, way more times than Sebastian has.

Elliott touching Kurt, stroking Kurt, wrapping his arms around Kurt possessively while Kurt becomes hard inside Elliott’s fist, makes Sebastian jealous as hell. But he’s learned a lesson about jealousy, right up here on this very stage, as a matter of fact. He’s learned a lot about “relationships” here at Kurt’s club, how they can work outside the norms of what even Sebastian practices. It’s not cut and dry, not _you’re together or you’re not_ , you’re loyal or you’re a cheater. Those exist here, too, but he’s also seen how lines blur when it comes to the physical; that when consent is given, anything can go. Sex is to be enjoyed however, whenever, and as often as possible, and that what’s going on now, between him and this slave, and between Kurt and Elliott.

This has little to do with emotion, and everything to do with power.

Kurt derives pleasure from the power he wields, and Sebastian is a huge part of that.

And that’s what finally makes Sebastian hard, which this slave thinks has everything to do with her, since she becomes more eager with her sucking, more enthusiastic with her licks around his shaft and how often she takes him completely down her throat.

But as far as cumming, he’s nowhere near close.

He pictures being where Elliott is, but with Kurt in his lap, riding his cock the way he does in his office.

Kurt tying his arms behind his back and giving him a blow.

Kurt biting every inch of his body until Sebastian cums.

Kurt getting him baked and simply using him to get off.

The way he practically sings with pleasure before he climaxes.

Kurt wrapping his fingers around Sebastian’s neck while he fucks him, digging his nails in, leaving marks and claiming him as his own.

It’s at the point when Sebastian thinks that Kurt might cum that Kurt puts a hand on Elliott’s wrist and stops him. He beckons Elliott forward and whispers something in his ear. Elliott looks disappointed, but he kisses Kurt on the cheek, pats him on the shoulder, and with a sly smile at Sebastian, sits back in his chair and waits.

Without pulling up his jeans, giving absolutely no fucks who sees, Kurt walks back on stage, completely hard.

“You. Go,” Kurt barks to the woman on her knees, bumping her head with his hip, his voice gruffer than it was when he commanded her over. She scurries away, back to the arms of her Owner, who rains praise on her, and the promise of a spanking for her good behavior. Kurt steps in front of Sebastian and pulls up his panties, tying them on over Sebastian’s wet cock. He puts a hand to his sub’s flushed cheek, smiles around his lips, which he comes close to kissing, but not quite. “Come on, preppy.” He takes Sebastian’s hand and leads it to his erection, lets Sebastian feel it with his open palm. “This is yours. I saved it just for you, for being a good little boy. Why don’t you take it?”

Sebastian breathes in, forces air into his lungs like he’s been starved for oxygen without Kurt beside him.

“Yes, Master,” he replies. It sounds like a whimper. Like a _thank you_.

Kurt doesn’t have to push Sebastian down before he’s on his knees.

“And … I don’t think you’re going to be needing this.” Kurt lifts a leg and presses up against Sebastian’s cock, crushing it to his body.

“No, Master,” Sebastian whispers, scratching at the denim of Kurt’s jeans, sucking in quick before he takes Kurt in his mouth, eager to finish his Master off. Sebastian doesn’t need his half-hard erection. Being sucked off didn’t make him hard enough to matter, and besides, the torture of having it ground away is worth this. _This_ matters. His Master’s cock in his mouth matters. Kurt looking down at him with raw lust matters. The hand in his hair - not pushing, just caressing - matters.

Kurt cumming down his throat, filling him up, spilling over his mouth, marking him inside and out – the makeup, the outfit, the shoes, all Kurt’s, and Kurt’s cum on his lips - matters.

Sebastian is ready to collapse when Kurt pulls out, adrenaline from fear, discomfort, and the strain of standing upright in heels, zapping the energy from his body at a tremendous rate. This sudden fall, combined with a bizarre floating sensation, one of too little blood rationed among too many important parts of his body, narrows his focus, keeps him tuned in to his Dom and only his Dom, so that the other sounds around him – of music and talking, and the crowd erupting in applause – don’t register with him. Only Kurt’s hands holding his biceps, raising him to his feet; Kurt’s arm around his shoulder, propping him upright; Kurt’s fingers unclasping the leash from his collar – those are the limits of Sebastian’s world right now. Those are the boundaries within which he dwells.

Kurt leads his limp submissive off the stage, holding him up as long as it takes to get him to the table. Kurt sits in his chair and pulls Sebastian onto his leg, letting Sebastian relax against him while he floats, cum decorating his chin and throat, not concerned with wiping it away.

“How are we feeling, preppy?” Kurt asks, positioning Sebastian against him, resting Sebastian’s head on his shoulder.

“Green … Master.” Sebastian sounds exhausted and slightly drunk, giddy with the warmth of his Dom’s body beneath him, his Dom’s arms cradling him, safe in Kurt’s care.

“Did you want to take this off now?” Kurt asks, curious what Sebastian will say, of how his prep school boy will handle what took place up on that stage. Only time will tell, but for now, Sebastian seems bubbly, chuckling softly, mellow with release.

Not physical release – emotional release.

“Not unless I get to see it on you, Master.”

“Hmm … maybe,” Kurt says. Sitting on Kurt’s lap the way he is, Sebastian’s chest is bared, legs spread. Kurt is keeping him on display while making it easier to fondle him. He sneaks his hand underneath the skirt and palms his sub’s cock, smiling in triumph when it hardens with barely a touch. The lightest touch, but that touch belongs to Kurt. “But not today.”


	27. A Dalton Boy Protected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sebastian complains that his upcoming exams are hitting him hard, Kurt comes up with a way to make sure his sub remembers that Kurt has his back. 
> 
> (Warning for cutting, mention of blood, and recreational marijuana use. Just so you know, it jumps right into it. But this isn’t gory. It’s ritualistic, and romantic. And it’s done on Sebastian’s back, so that should really tamp down on the squick factor.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @lilinas Bitchmas prompt ‘agony’, but in an emotional sense, and the @hummelholidays prompt 'candles’.

There’s a sweet agony to it – the blade biting into his shoulder, the slice of skin splitting apart as the metal edge runs through. Sebastian can’t see it, lying on his stomach on Kurt’s bed, but he can feel the sting, and then the tickle of light touches from blood rolling down his skin after it wells up.

But Kurt’s quick to dab at the wound, pressing to stem the bleeding.

Kurt takes extreme care when he marks Sebastian this way. He wears latex gloves, and he uses a fresh blade every time. He has sterile gauze and Neosporin on hand to keep the wound clean and infection free.

The only possible faux pas in the hygienic nature of this practice is the bong Kurt’s hitting, which he passes off to Sebastian while he cuts.

“To numb the pain,” Kurt had said.

The bong they’re sharing is made of clear glass, and is called a blowjob.

Sebastian thinks the name is kind of apropos.

Not that it’s doing much numbing – not of Sebastian’s shoulder, anyway. What it _is_ doing is making Sebastian relaxed enough that the glances against his prostate by the head of Kurt’s cock don’t build tension, don’t make him feel like he’s about to explode. It’s keeping him mellow, pliant, floating between daydream and reality, but only the reality that exists here in Kurt’s bedroom.

And that’s fine by Sebastian. This reality is his favorite reality by far.

The sweetest agony of all is Kurt on his back, fucking him slowly while he carves this intricate symbol into the skin of Sebastian’s shoulder - the one without the brand. This is another type of brand, something Kurt conjured up when Sebastian started complaining about his upcoming exams. Sebastian moaned and groaned about Calculus and Econ and Physics as if he isn’t acing those classes already. But the underlying thread, the agony unspoken, is that those tests are another herald of his time with Kurt coming to a close.

 _If_ Sebastian fails at his plan, that is. He has no intention of accepting defeat if he does. But if he _does_ fail, it will be the biggest failure of his life.

Kurt didn’t grasp Sebastian’s real meaning when they spoke. How could he when Sebastian hasn’t told him what he’s calculating yet? There are things that Sebastian left out of his rant, and he feels guilty for it. But in an attempt to solve the problem that Kurt _did_ know, to ensure that his submissive passes with flying colors and so he knows that Kurt has his back, Kurt came up with this ritual.

Sebastian seemed to enjoy cutting before, when Kurt carved words of ownership on his leg. Kurt is being more artistic about it this time, creating not a crude collection of words, but an image. A totem.

The sex, well, Kurt added that because he’s down to fuck anytime he gets Sebastian naked.

He takes a hit off the bong, then passes it to Sebastian as he makes his final cut.

“There you go, preppy,” Kurt hums, blotting the cuts with a fresh piece of gauze.

“May I see it, Master?” Sebastian asks, turning his head in a futile attempt to sneak a peek.

“Oh, alright,” Kurt teases, even though he had already picked up his iPhone to take a picture and show him. He hands the phone over to Sebastian, and while Kurt grabs a candle and lights it, Sebastian examines the image. It’s two symbols, both a strange combination of straight lines and circles, like something aboriginal, or Native American. It’s something that Sebastian has definitely never seen before, Old World, like the Celtic knot tattooed on the back of Kurt’s neck.

“It’s amazing, Master,” he says. He hisses when hot wax, wielded by surprisingly steady hands, hits the wound, while further down, Kurt continues to slowly thrust. “Mmm, what are they, exactly?”

“They’re Norse runes,” Kurt says, carefully going over the lines with dribbles of wax to protect it … and to keep his sub’s blood off his $80 sheets. “The one on the left’s for luck, and the one on the right’s for stamina.”

Sebastian smirks. “Stamina?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says. “”You’re here with me for the week. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

“And luck, Master?” Sebastian moans when Kurt speeds up, pulling far back, then rocking into Sebastian’s body, hitting him harder. “Does that mean … _mmm_ … you’re going to let me cum today?”

“Hmm,” Kurt hums, thinking, and while he thinks, he stalls. He blows out the candle and sets it aside. Then he takes another hit off the bong, a long one, long enough to leave Sebastian in suspense while Kurt gets his buzz going. He blows smoke out through his mouth, watches it fall over Sebastian’s back and curl away like fog creeping up his spine, over his brand and this new wound, both of them symbols of how Kurt latched his hooks into this boy, took pieces of him out large enough to inject himself inside. “Well, if this thing’s worth the time I put into it, then I’d say things look good for you.”


	28. A Dalton Boy Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his conversation with the Dean, Sebastian heads to his room, eager to get to Kurt's house and start his weekend.
> 
> But Hunter has other plans for Sebastian ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this comes right after what has actually been the last chapter written of this series so far, which is "A Dalton Boy in the Hot Seat". There's a bunch of individual scenes that come before this, but since this is actual story line stuff, I figured I would post this first and fill in later. If anything seems confusing (though it really shouldn't) let me know <3 Minor, momentary mention of Blaine, but no Blaine wank. Also warning for being tied down, blindfolded, and gagged in a non-consensual way.

As it turns out, Sebastian doesn’t get time to think of how he’s going to get back at Hunter. Hunter walks into Sebastian’s bedroom seconds after Sebastian, catching the door before it swings shut. Sebastian has no idea where in the hell he came from. He wasn’t following him back from the Dean’s office. But like Elliott down at Kurt’s club, Hunter has a tendency to pop up, as if in a puff of smoke, whenever’s least convenient. Sebastian wishes he wouldn’t, that he would learn a thing or two about “personal boundaries”. Hunter seems to love invading Sebastian’s space. Sebastian didn’t have a name for the fact that it bothered him before Kurt came along. Sebastian always thought that it was a “territorial thing”. They do go to an all-boy’s school. The dorms in particular are rife with testosterone. But Sebastian has begun to realize that he regards his dorm room as his “safe space”. It’s his private sanctum to hide out and unwind at the end of the school day. Hunter shouldn’t be in Sebastian’s room without permission.

Sebastian wouldn’t give permission to him if asked, which is probably why Hunter doesn’t to begin with.

Sebastian has no time for Hunter now. After his meeting with the Dean, he’s running late. He has to grab his things and get to Kurt’s before curfew. Luckily, he keeps most of his downtime clothes at Kurt’s anyway (even though he spends most of his time naked). He also has a toothbrush there. Kurt bought it for him. It’s child size and has pictures of Transformers on it, but it does the job. Kurt requires that Sebastian borrow his personal toiletries (which Sebastian has taken to stocking in his own bathroom at Dalton as well) so that they don’t end up wearing scents that clash. But that rule Sebastian knows is another way Kurt stakes his claim. Kurt’s scent is a marker, just like the brand and the cutting and the bite marks. There’s really no need for Sebastian to pack too much else other than his homework.

But seeing as he doesn’t exactly want Hunter tailing him to his car, or worse, following Sebastian to Kurt’s house, Sebastian decides to stall.

“You lost, Hunter?” he asks, slipping off his blazer. It’s not like he won’t be wearing it to Kurt’s. He’s just not keen on getting blood on it when he pops Hunter in the nose.

Sebastian’s not planning on getting into a fight, but he figures that’s next on Hunter’s playlist, so he best be prepared. Besides, even if it’s not part of Hunter’s itinerary, he has it coming.

“Nope,” Hunter says, shutting his door for him. “I knew you probably wouldn’t return to class and I wanted to be the first person to find out what the Dean did to you.”

Sebastian unbuttons his dress shirt and takes that off, too, completely forgetting the marks he’s exposing, whose “hypothetical existence” got him sent to the office in the first place. He figures that Hunter has someone at his beck and call - a teacher, or maybe even the Assistant Dean, ready to expose Sebastian with a cell phone photo or a phone call, but it still wouldn’t matter. And that’s the thing that frustrates Sebastian more than anything. These bullshit moves by Hunter are just roadblocks. Hunter can’t really touch Sebastian. When is he going to get that through his thick, badly coiffed skull?

“Nothing, Hunter,” Sebastian says with an aggravated laugh. “The Dean … did ... _nothing_ to me. Don’t you get it? _He_ can’t do anything to me and _you_ can’t do anything to me! You can call every teacher here at Dalton, the police, and the National Guard! You … cannot … touch ... me! I’m not doing anything wrong!”

“That’s what you think,” Hunter says with that smug little pinch of a grin that makes Sebastian want to slug him more than ever.

“Why do you care so much anyway? Huh?” Sebastian asks, getting closer to Hunter than he should considering how desperately he’d love to lay him flat. “You haven’t explained what this vendetta is all about. You and I aren’t friends. We never really have been. We’ve barely been teammates. Why do you care what I do or who I do it with? In a few months, we’ll never see one another again!”

“What do you _really_ think is going on here?” Hunter asks, that grin of his slipping, not out of fear or defeat, but out of rage. A rage that seems to come on suddenly and for no reason. But whatever has put it there has been simmering for some time; Sebastian just hasn’t been around campus enough lately to realize it.

“I don’t know,” Sebastian snaps. “You won’t tell me!”

“You don’t seem to get the fact that there’s a certain … _order_ to things,” Hunter starts. Sebastian rolls his eyes. This is playing out a little too much like the big reveal in a James Bond movie for his taste. The bad Bond movies. The ones with Pierce Brosnan in them. “I understand that order. My father understands that order. Your father understands that order. Every boy that attends Dalton seems to understand that order. The only person not getting the memo here is you.”

“Oh, God,” Sebastian groans. Yes, he wants to know what’s going on in Hunter’s deluded head, but only so he can snuff it. He doesn’t need a monologue. “Can you skip to the end where you tell me _why_ so I can tell you to fuck off and be done with you?”

“Your father and my father went to Dalton together. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I knew that,” Sebastian says, watching Hunter take a leisurely slow lap around his room. “Everyone’s father went to Dalton with everyone else’s father. We’re all one big incestuous family.”

Actually, Sebastian _didn’t_ know that. He just doesn’t want Hunter to think he had one up on him.

“The way my father tells it, your father was the big man on campus here at Dalton. He was captain of the lacrosse team, captain of the debate team, valedictorian, etc., etc. My father deserved it, but your father got it …”

Hunter’s words make Sebastian shiver slightly, like a slimy creature slithering up his spine. He’s too calm when he talks, too practiced at this. Hunter’s thought this speech through one too many times. But why? It doesn’t make sense?

“And what does this have to do with me?” Sebastian asks, eyes flicking toward the door. It’s there, closed but unlocked, with Hunter on the opposite end of the room and Sebastian a step away from it. He could just take that step, turn the knob, and leave … couldn’t he?

He suddenly gets the prickly feeling that he can’t.

“When I started attending Dalton, my father told me that you would be here. That you were a legacy. That the administration would probably hand everything to you like they did for your father. He told me not to let that happen, that you Smythe men needed to learn your place. You can’t just get everything you want. But it didn’t matter what I did. You got everything anyway. You have _everything_ , you’re actively throwing it away, except they’ll _still_ let you have it. _You’re_ captain of the lacrosse team. _You’re_ co-captain of the debate team. I tried to teach you a lesson. I tried to make everyone see you for what you were, and it backfired on me.” Hunter’s eyes drift to the half-packed bag sitting open on Sebastian’s bed. “It’s _still_ backfiring …”

Sebastian’s mind bounces back and forth between going to Kurt’s, his unlocked door, what Hunter’s saying, and lesson? What _lesson_? What the hell’s he talking about? Is this about Jamie coming back to Dalton? Is this about Sebastian getting sent to the Dean? That was the first time in a while. It’s not like he’s racking them up.

No, Sebastian realizes, eyes widening slowly. This is something else. Something more personal.

“This is about Kurt, isn’t it?” Sebastian asks, properly angry for the first time. “You and the other guys sent me to that club … but you never had any intention of showing up, did you? It was a set-up.”

“You needed to be shoved down a few pegs.” Hunter smirks. “And being caught at that freak show club would have done that.” Then Hunter’s smirk turns sour. “We never thought you’d get inside. I never thought …”

“What? You were going to have someone photograph me outside or something? Show it to the Dean? Send it to my parents? Print it in the school paper? The yearbook?” Door forgotten, Sebastian storms the remaining steps over to Hunter. “Well, it didn’t work, did it?” Sebastian sneers. “In fact, because of your little trick, I ended up with one of the best things in my life. So, thank you. Thank you and your messed up existence for introducing me to the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. Now that we’ve got that clear, you can slink off to your room and leave me alone. You lost, Hunter. Get over it. High school isn’t life. I have a life. And I’ve got things I’ve got to do.”

Sebastian glares at Hunter, waiting for him to turn tail and go, but Hunter grins as if those words out of Sebastian’s mouth were exactly what he had been waiting to hear. “No, no, no, Sebastian. I’m sorry. But it’s not that easy.”

Sebastian hears the door open behind him, several sets of footsteps rushing in. He doesn’t know if they were waiting for some sort of cue or if they just happened along at that moment, but their timing is impeccable. Impressive, actually. Sebastian doesn’t see who Hunter has acting the heavy before a pillowcase is thrown over his head and, on top of that, a gag fitted over his mouth. He struggles against it, kicks out and punches, sucks in deep breaths, trying to scream. But the boys who grab his flailing limbs are too strong and too fast. They have to be on the lacrosse team, Sebastian realizes. The strongest boys on campus are on that team.

Which means the guys tying him down to his wooden desk chair are boys that he knows. Boys he considers teammates.

Boys he considered friends.

He screams as best he can with the gag in his mouth, but it doesn’t do any good. The sound is too muffled, he can’t form an intelligible word. And no one outside his room can probably hear him.

Even if they could, is there anyone he knows _not_ in on this?

“Oh, don’t fight so much,” Hunter says. “I figure you’d be used to this by now.”

Sebastian knows what he’s implying, but this is nothing like what he does with Kurt. This isn’t consensual. This is violence. There is no safeword, safe sound, or safe gesture that will make this stop.

Beneath his pillowcase with the gag over his mouth, it’s becoming hard for him to breathe.

“And as for that _wonderful man_ you were just thanking me for, I don’t think you’re going to have him much longer.” Sebastian feels a hand reach into his pocket and grab his phone. He can only guess what Hunter’s planning. _Kurt_. He’s going to fuck up Sebastian’s relationship with Kurt. He’s going to call him or send him a text and say something awful, disrespect him, make it seem like it’s from Sebastian. Suddenly, Sebastian’s not angry anymore. He’s scared. Scared to death, his heart pounding, his need to break free so urgent it becomes a knot in his head, rolling tight, ready to explode his brain. All of a sudden, Sebastian can’t think straight. He starts to panic. “So now, you’re where you’re supposed to be, down at square one. And once you let that sink in, then we’ll talk about plans for the remainder of the year. Until then, you can just sit here …” Hunter gives Sebastian a few condescending slaps to the face “… and think about what you’ve done.”

“Hunter!” Sebastian tries to scream, but he can’t get the word out. His lips pulled open tight, the fabric at the very corners of his mouth chafe his skin, causing a burn. He’s felt this before, but not like this. He’s never felt trapped like this, helpless like this.

He’s never felt beaten like this.

“Here,” Sebastian hears Hunter say to one of the boys behind him, “take this and send that freak a message.”

“W-what do you want me to say?” It’s Jeff’s voice. _Fuck_! Sebastian always considered Jeff one of his better friends. But even if he weren’t, Sebastian couldn’t imagine him, or any of the Warblers, agreeing to do something like this. The Warblers have always been Dalton Academy’s ambassadors to the public, preaching Dalton’s zero-tolerance bullying policy at Open Houses and during school tours. But, obviously, none of them believed in it.

Apparently, Sebastian is dumber than he thought.

Though considering some of the shit Sebastian has pulled, is he really in a position to judge?

“I don’t care,” Hunter says. “Be creative. You know what I want.”

“Yeah,” Jeff says. In his defense, he sounds uneasy about this task being put in his hands. “I know what you want.”

Sebastian stops fighting. If someone like Jeff, who’s never so much as called anyone a cruel name, could be on Hunter’s side in all this, Sebastian doesn’t have any hope of finding help. He retreats. He shuts his eyes, tries to withdraw.

Tries to wait this out, come up with a plan … and not completely split apart when Kurt breaks up with him.

***

Kurt looks at his phone. _Scowls_ at it. He’s about to throw the fucking thing across the room just to watch it shatter. So what if it’s a $700 phone? He’s pissed off! It’s 8:16. His sub was supposed to be there by six tonight. They had plans, plans that they have every weekend, without fail, so it’s not like Sebastian didn’t know. Punctuality is one of five tenets that Kurt demands Sebastian strictly adhere to, but he’s late. Over _two hours_ late. Not to mention the fact that the thirteen calls Kurt has made to Sebastian’s phone have gone unanswered.

The motherfucker had better be lying in a ditch, bleeding out of every orifice, if he wants to find himself in Kurt’s good graces again.

Kurt strangles the phone in his hand, going through his text messages one by one to see if he missed anything. Aside from one message he hasn’t read yet from a number he doesn’t recognize, there’s nothing. He decides to read that one, seeing as he has nothing the fuck better to do. He expects it to be phishing, some text scam from a “prince” out in Kenya who needs money, but just as he’s about to select it, a second new text comes in. Kurt hates the way his eyes light up when he sees Sebastian’s number. Was Kurt _really_ considering forgiving him after this bullshit? Was he going to let this slide? This is a direct violation of their contract together, something that Kurt has never taken lightly. He’s dropped subs completely for smaller violations than this. But his heart races nonetheless every second he doesn’t read it.

Fuck it. He’ll see what the little shit has to say and then hate himself later for whatever leniency he grants.

Kurt scans the message, and his racing heart seizes to a halt. He reads it again and again, becoming more and more furious with every repeat. He reads it till he has it memorized and then decides enough is enough.

“Prick,” he mutters, reaching for his pack of cloves, strangling that too once it’s within reach. “Motherfucking _prick_!”

He dials the first number in his contacts. The phone only rings once before someone picks up. In the background, Kurt hears yelling, music, the chaotic atmosphere of his club providing him the calm he desperately needs.

“Yello.”

“Elliott? I’m gonna meet you at the club. I need you _now_.”

***

Sebastian has no clear timeline for anything that happened after the pillowcase was put over his head and the gag in his mouth. He’d heard shouting, arguments, reprimands, doors slamming, and muttered apologies. From what he could discern, Hunter became angry with Jeff because Jeff wasn’t texting Kurt fast enough, so he decided to do the dirty deed himself. That broke Sebastian’s heart. At least with Jeff sending the message, it might not have been too vicious and insulting.

Sebastian doesn’t know what Hunter ended up texting to Kurt, but knowing Hunter, it has the potential of making Kurt despise Sebastian for the rest of his life.

Sebastian had heard his phone ringing from outside his dorm room. He knew who was calling because he’d assigned Kurt a special ring song – “Muse” by O.C.A.D. But Sebastian’s phone stopped ringing over, what he assumes was, an hour ago. No more calls. No text alerts. Nothing. Total silence. They did it. They found the one thing that would ruin him, the one thing that Sebastian thought was untouchable, and stole it from him.

Sebastian remembers the contract he signed with Kurt. The first items Kurt made mention of had to do with punctuality. Countless nights Sebastian broke speed limits to make it to Kurt’s door on time. Even with an explanation, Sebastian isn’t sure that Kurt will forgive him. Kurt isn’t a big fan of drama, and he isn’t a fan of Dalton. He might decide that this high school bull crap is beneath him and let Sebastian go for good.

Elliott is right. Kurt doesn’t need a boy. He needs a man. A _real_ man, not a _technical_ one. Sebastian can throw his legal age in people’s faces all he wants, but he’s still a teenager.

A grown man wouldn’t be in this situation.

Kurt could decide that Sebastian is more trouble than he’s worth. Sebastian might do the same if the shoe were on the other foot.

But not with Kurt. If their roles were reversed, Sebastian wouldn’t leave. Because Sebastian cares about Kurt. He loves Kurt. He knows that now. Kurt is the one thing in Sebastian’s life that he found for himself, the one thing he put more sincere effort into than anything. Hunter was partially right. There have been times when Sebastian felt things were handed to him. Not grades. He earned those, but they weren’t difficult for him to get. Not really. Not the way they were for other students. But solos. Positions of authority. Respect. Privileges. Those were sometimes handed to him the second people heard his last name. Sebastian sort of expected that. It neither surprised nor appalled him. It was like a game. In his father’s world and at Dalton, that’s how games were played.

That’s one of the reasons why Sebastian has no problem taking or leaving them.

But what he has with Kurt, Sebastian had to work for that. He had to learn to find his submissive self, learn to embrace it. He had to work to get through Kurt’s shell, had to work to make Kurt want him the way he did. He earned that on his knees, on his back, with his mouth open and his heart on his sleeve. He earned that on his own, and these fucktards took all that away from him without a thought. Without a care.

They broke him, and they don’t care that they’ve done it.

They were never his friends. In fact, they may have hated him all along, looking for an excuse to enact revenge, and jumped at this chance when Hunter offered it. Well, whatever they wanted, Sebastian would have given it to them gladly if he knew this would be the price for keeping it. He would have handed over his leadership, his academic standing, and all the other privileges he had at Dalton if it meant not losing Kurt.

But why think about that now? What was the point? What’s done is done.

Underneath the pillowcase in his quiet room, he’s nothing, because he’s lost the one thing that matters. The one thing he _earned_.

The person who looked out for him.

The person Sebastian thought could love him.

“Man, how long are we gonna sit here?” Sebastian hears someone ask. He’s not too sure, but he thinks the kid in question is on the sophomore lacrosse team. He doesn’t know all of the guys on the freshmen and sophomore teams, but he didn’t think any of them had a beef with him. “It’s Friday night, and we’ve been in here for over _five hours!_ ”

 _Five hours_!? Sebastian’s brain feels fuzzy, drifting between a want to find subspace and a need to stay cognizant, but he does the math in his head. That means it’s ten o’clock!

“Quit whining,” a second voice from the same team answers. “We do what Hunter says and we’re the major players next year when they graduate, remember? I think a couple of hours babysitting a guy with a pillowcase over his head is worth first string on the Varsity team, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” the first boy says. “How can we even be sure that Hunter will keep his promise? Isn’t Sebastian supposed to be, like, one of his inner circle? Do you want to end up like _him_ next year? Besides, _Sebastian’s_ captain of the Varsity team. Not Hunter. If you ask me, I think we may have seriously screwed the pooch.”

“You heard what Hunter and the other guys said. Smythe’s dad bought team captain for him. Of course, Hunter’s going to keep his promise. Just don’t give him any reason to hate you and--- _what’s that_?”

“What?”

“Shh! Listen.”

The boys go quiet – completely quiet - until Sebastian almost thinks they’ve left, evaporated into thin air since he doesn’t hear the door open or shut. Sebastian doesn’t hear anything at first, the sound of his own breathing loud inside the hot confines of the pillowcase, his head spinning from too much time spent with too little oxygen. But the longer the boys go without talking, the sharper everything becomes, and then finally he hears it - the _click-click-click_ of a familiar pair of high-heeled boots sauntering down the hallway, and everything from his heart to his head lightens. Even if Kurt came down there to rip Sebastian a new one, at least he came. He’ll see for himself what held Sebastian up. He’ll help Sebastian out of this mess, and then Sebastian will do everything and anything in his power to convince Kurt to take him back. He’ll polish every pair of boots Kurt owns with his tongue, he’ll clean his toilets with his bare hands, he’ll sleep hung up on the closet door with a hook up his ass.

Anything Kurt wants.

 _Anything_.

Sebastian still can’t speak, still can’t scream. His lips won’t move around the gag, his mouth insanely dry, all the moisture in his body gone towards keeping the pillowcase uncomfortably moist, but he doesn’t have to say a word. His prayers have been answered by the only God that Sebastian recognizes.

 _Kurt_.

***

When the text from Sebastian’s number came in, Kurt had to admit, he was furious, but he knew it wasn’t from Sebastian. It didn’t sound like Sebastian – even if it _had_ been written by a self-centered prick. But Kurt didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t need the text from that unknown number to get him to Dalton, but it did help him to prepare:

_I hope this is Kurt, and if it is, I hope you’ll read this. You don’t know me. My name is Jeff, and I’m a friend of Sebastian’s. I don’t know if he’s ever told you about a kid at our school named Hunter, but long story short, Hunter doesn’t like Sebastian. He’s been planning on doing something to hurt Sebastian for a while. He’s trying to make him pay for hooking up with you. I know this is going to sound like a prank, but please believe me. Hunter has Sebastian tied to a chair in his dorm room. I don’t know what he’s going to do to him, but I don’t think he can breathe all that well. Even as I send this to you, I’m afraid he might have blacked out. If you care about him at all, please come down here and help him out right away. I’ve tried calling the Dean of Students, but I can’t get a hold of him, and the cops think this is a hoax. I don’t know what else to do. Sebastian’s a good guy. I don’t want to see him get hurt._

There was a chance that this Jeff guy was pulling Kurt’s chain, or leading him into some sort of trap, but Kurt wouldn’t know anything for certain until he went down to Dalton and checked things out for himself.

So that’s what he did.

Dalton. He went back to fucking Dalton … again.

When Kurt swore to himself he’d never go back to Dalton, he probably should have known that what he actually meant was, “Give it a few years and you’ll be back there every God damned day.”

Kurt also swore to himself that he wasn’t going to get angry, that he was going to keep his cool no matter what he saw when he got there. But that promise dissolves into the ether the second he walks into the junior/senior dorms, the hallways strangely quiet for ten-o-seven on a Friday evening. There’s practically no one walking around, no music playing (which he remembered doing the second seven o’clock rolled around and noise restrictions lifted). It’s as if whatever’s been going on here this evening, the whole dorm is in on it, or knows about it, and that makes Kurt want to scream.

Because if Jeff’s right, this douchebag Hunter has been holding his preppy hostage in his bedroom for the past five hours and everybody knows about it.

And only one person has tried to help him.

Kurt turns down the first stretch of hallway in the labyrinth that leads to the senior wing, feeling eyes follow him every step of the way. He curbs his urge to turn to one partially open door and hiss … or maybe just kick the fucker in out of spite.

He turns one more corner and bristles beneath his jacket when he sees his sub’s door literally under guard. Where the fuck was he right now? Wasn’t Dalton Academy all about no bullying and that bullshit? Nice to see that nothing changes, that Dalton Academy was still peddling lies about “safe spaces” to another generation of kids. Kurt, on the other hand, has devoted a good portion of his life to “safe spaces”, the protecting of and respecting of. And the straights have the nerve to call _him_ a deviant.

At least he knows how to keep his word.

Kurt struts down the hallway towards Sebastian’s room, holding himself in check when the two asshats guarding the door don’t automatically part ways like the Red Sea. The tall-ish boy with the square jaw, Neanderthal brow, and dark hair, Kurt doesn’t recognize, but the one standing beside him with the boyish face, towhead, and quivering lower lip has to be Jamie. Sebastian had pointed this boy out to Kurt once a while ago during another impromptu visit.

He’s much less appealing close up, and that’s saying something about a boy who looks like he should be dressed in a diaper and slapped onto the label of a Coppertone bottle.

How Sebastian could ever put his dick in that, Kurt will never understand.

“Good evening, assholes,” Kurt says, loud enough to wake the whole hall if he thought anyone was asleep. Nope. Not with this shit going down.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jamie asks, trying his hardest not to look too intimidated by the man standing in front of him, dressed in crisp, black jeans; a black button down shirt; a black leather jacket; and a collar around his neck. It’s a dog collar, Jamie realizes, lined with thick, metal spikes; one of those collars people put on dangerous breeds, like Rottweilers and pit bulls. Jamie has never seen Kurt Hummel up close before. He fights to keep his eyes locked on the man’s face when they die to glance down his body. But even without the onceover, Jamie can see the piercings, the tattoos, the streaks of unnatural color in his hair. He didn’t know _this_ was Sebastian’s type, but Jamie can definitely see the appeal, what with the way those jeans hug every inch of him, and his shirt, straining against muscle to remain buttoned.

“You boys have something of mine,” Kurt says, pointing to the door behind them that Kurt’s itching to get to.

“And so what if we do?” Thad asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are _you_ going to do about it? There’s the two of us out here, two more boys inside, and about nine others in their rooms keeping a watch on this room. You can’t take us all.”

Kurt sighs dramatically hard. “What world do you live in, fuckwad? Apparently not the real one. Do you seriously think I came down here to beat you down, break your collective necks, and get my ass thrown in jail?” Kurt huffs. “You guys aren’t worth chipping my nail polish.”

Kurt glances down subconsciously at his freshly polished nails. And not just _any_ nail polish. Nail polish _Sebastian_ bought for him. Nail polish Sebastian applied while he knelt naked at Kurt’s feet with a humbler snapped around his scrotum.

Because Sebastian belongs to Kurt, and no one else.

“So, what?” Thad chuckles. Jamie stands dumb beside him, too shocked to say anything. “You’re just going to stand there and stare at us menacingly?”

“You know, for going to an exclusive school like Dalton, with its high academic standards and all, you guys have the combined intelligence of a barrel cactus.” Kurt reaches inside his jacket and pulls out pages he printed at home, stapled in the corner and folded in half. “Section 13, subsection 3 of the Dalton Academy Code of Conduct.” He tosses the pages in Jamie’s face, causing the boy to flinch in an attempt to catch them. “Now here’s the million dollar question, haircut – what does that cover?”

The two boys look at one another blankly, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Hazing,” Kurt replies. “Which, by the way, is an offense punishable by immediate and _permanent_ expulsion.” Kurt takes a step forward, leaning close to Jamie specifically, whose eyes have gone wide with fear at hearing the e-word. “Now,” Kurt says in a low but clearly threatening tone, “step away from this God damned _fucking_ door.”

Jamie gulps, preparing to step aside, but Thad grabs the shoulder of his blazer and keeps him from bolting.

“No one’s going to believe you, _freak_. It’s all of us, and then you.”

“Oh, it’s not just me, I assure you.”

Thad and Jamie look left and right down the hallway, waiting for Kurt’s mysterious someone else to show. Kurt doesn’t look, but he checks his cell phone for messages, tapping the right toe of his boot but otherwise nonplussed.

“So” – Thad shrugs – “where are they?”

“Just … just give them a minute,” Kurt says, putting a hand up. “I got here first. It might take them a little while.”

Only a few more seconds of awkward silence passes before more sets of footsteps echo down the hall. Kurt turns his head towards them, grinning like a jackal. God, but he loves when a plan goes off without a hitch! The theatricality of it is almost as exciting as being on stage … so far as he remembers. “I believe you all know the Assistant Dean of Students, Mr. Steven Matthews. I had to go to his house and knock on his door, but I was able to convince him to join us. And those gentlemen accompanying him? Well, the man in the uniform is Officer Mitchells of the Westerville Police Department. And the other man? The one who looks like me only _meaner_? His name’s Elliott. He’s a close personal friend of mine. He’s here to make sure that none of you nice young men force me to do something _rash_.”

Both boys’ faces drop when they see the three men coming their way, but Jamie in particular looks like he’s about to piss himself and possibly pass out afterwards.

“Step away from the door, boys,” the Assistant Dean commands. “But stay right here. We need to talk.”

The boys back down at the presence of the Assistant Dean and step away from the door, but they blanch when they catch a glimpse of Elliott. Dressed in a similar leather jacket and black jeans with the same collar wrapped around his neck, he stares at them with unblinking eyes, licking his lips like he’s sizing up his dinner. Officer Mitchells opens Sebastian’s door, which had remained unlocked, but Kurt’s the first one inside.

“You two,” he says, addressing the boys leaping off Sebastian’s bed in surprise. They look completely stunned by Kurt, the last person in the world they expected to see. Kurt’s heart and stomach start doing painful, trapeze-style acrobatics when he sees Sebastian in his chair, partially undressed and tied way too tightly, head bowed to his chest. But he feels his hands and eyes burn the better a look he gets. “Blow,” he growls. “I won’t ask nicely again.”

They fly by him before he finishes, no need to be told twice.

“Preppy!” Kurt rushes, undoes the gag and yanks the pillowcase off Sebastian’s head. Sebastian jumps, the eyes that meet his Dom wide and frantic.

He’s frightened.

How dare they? How dare they tie up his submissive, his Sebastian? How dare they touch a hair on his head? Kurt wants to hit someone. He wants to find those two fuckers who just ran out of there and hit them till they bleed. He doesn’t care if they look fourteen. He doesn’t care if they didn’t have a hand in tying him up. They were in on this. They were watching him. Someone has to pay!

“Oh, preppy,” Kurt coos. “I’m gonna kill them. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill them. I’m gonna beat them with canes until they’re black and blue and then hang their naked bodies by the side of the road for ants to snack on.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Officer Mitchells says. Only a step inside the door, he turns around and walks back out into the hallway.

“D—d---do,” Sebastian mutters, weakly shaking his head. “D---d---do …”

“Do,” Kurt repeats. “Do what, baby? Anything. What do you need me to do?”

Sebastian smirks as best he can while trying to breathe. “D---do … m-me instead.”

Kurt looks shocked, then sputters a laugh. “Oh, God, preppy,” he says, blinking wet eyes he tries to hide, “you have no idea. I’m going to do you so good. I’m going to take care of you, baby. I promise. Don’t expect to walk straight for about a week.”

Sebastian laughs, too. Laughs so he doesn’t cry.

“Did they hurt you, preppy?” Kurt asks, unknotting the ties around his wrists.

“N-no,” Sebastian pants, so happy to see Kurt he can’t believe his eyes. “N-not really. It was just … a little hard … to breathe … under there.”

“Oh, baby. My sweet, sweet baby boy.” Kurt runs his fingers through Sebastian’s sweaty hair. He touches all over his face, and then down his body to make sure he’s okay. Then he kisses him. It’s a gentle kiss, steeped with fire but less demanding than many of Kurt’s other kisses. This kiss is as close to an _I love you_ as Sebastian has gotten from Kurt yet, and he hates that he doesn’t get to put his arms around him for it. “Come on,” Kurt says, finishing up with the knots on Sebastian’s ankles. “We’ll get your things. You’re spending the week at my house while Dalton here empties the trash.”

“Is that … is that allowed, Master?” Sebastian asks, meaning _allowed_ as far as Kurt is concerned, but Kurt misunderstands, thinks Sebastian is referring to Dalton.

“Does it look like I give a shit, preppy? If they want to keep you in the dorms, they have to prove to me you’re gonna be safe.”

Sebastian smiles shyly and starts gathering up his books, slowly because of the long time he spent tied up and gagged, while Kurt attacks Sebastian’s closets. He finds a suitcase on rollers and a duffel bag, and sets them up on the floor. Kurt’s not all that forgiving with Sebastian’s clothes, his attempts at folding them more like he’s just rolling them into balls. But then again, Kurt has always had a healthy disdain for the Dalton uniform. Sebastian figures he can deal with the wrinkles later.

Kurt wants to get Sebastian out of there on the ASAP, and it shows.

He slams blazer after blazer, and then a mess of dress shirts, into Sebastian’s suitcase, all the while thinking - why the hell would someone do this to his sub? This went far beyond teasing, far beyond hazing. This was cruel, and Kurt needs to get to the bottom of it. But he can’t do that tonight, and they can’t stay here, investigating and interrogating.

If they do, Kurt’s going to hurt somebody. Of that, he’s more than certain.

Kurt continues when the suitcase is full, shoving the rest of Sebastian’s clothes into his duffel, but Sebastian has stopped with his book bag, staring blankly at the ground. Kurt notices, watches him. He would normally scold him for disobeying, but this isn’t normal. Nothing that happened tonight was normal, so normal rules don’t apply.

“What is it, baby?” Kurt asks. “What’s wrong?”

“How do I … how do I leave, Master?” Sebastian asks. “How do I go out there? They’re all going to be watching me. I thought they were my friends. I knew that Hunter was an asshole, but everyone else? They were Warblers, they were my teammates, people I thought I could count on. But, as it turns out, they never were. They hated me or, at the very least, they didn’t care. They ganged up on me because Hunter told them to, and they won. They got the best of me.”

“No.” Kurt takes Sebastian’s book bag out of his hands and sets it on the ground. Then he wraps his arms around Sebastian’s waist. “Now listen to me. No, they didn’t. Those punks didn’t get the best of you. Far from it.” Sebastian averts his eyes. Kurt fights to bring his eyes back up. “Preppy, do you know what the definition of revenge is?”

“A tire iron to the face, Master?”

Kurt chuckles. _That’s his sassy boy. Thank God he’s still in there._ “Close, but no. The definition of revenge is a life well lived. One where you get to be yourself, unapologetically so. One where you enjoy what you do, and the peons of the world don’t matter. Can you say that you do that, preppy? That you live unapologetically, as often as you can?”

Sebastian nods. He’s never apologized to anyone for the things he does or the things he enjoys. But the most unapologetic thing he’s ever done in his life is give himself to Kurt.

“Yes, Master. Yes, I do.”

“Good. Then I’ll tell you how you’re going to leave here. We’re going to leave here together. You’re going to wear my jacket so these dicks know exactly who they’re messing with. When they fuck with you, they fuck with me, too, and they’d better not forget it. Then you’re going to put your arm around my shoulders, and we’re going to walk on down that hallway like we own this place. Because this … this horrible thing that happened tonight, isn’t even a setback. These little entitled fucks can pick at us and make fun of us and call us names, but they can’t touch us. Not really. You know that, right?”

Sebastian looks into Kurt’s face, wildly determined, full of hope and full of care. Care for Sebastian. Kurt came back for him. Kurt knew Sebastian better than Sebastian gave him credit for, and now, here he is, ready to walk Sebastian out. He had no intention of leaving him alone. Sebastian didn’t lose his Dom after all.

Maybe Sebastian _can_ do this. He can walk out of Dalton, graduate, get his ass out of Ohio … and do it with Kurt leading the way.

“Right, Master. I know that.”

Three knocks rattle the door, and Officer Mitchells steps back in. “You okay, kid?” he asks. He looks at both Kurt and Sebastian when he speaks, but constantly back at Kurt in a curious way that makes Sebastian wonder what their connection is, if this police officer may have been one of Kurt’s submissives once upon a time. Or a patron of Kurt’s club. Sebastian doesn’t think he’s ever seen this man down there before, but, to be honest, with all the time Sebastian spends on his knees serving Kurt, he wouldn’t recognize one face from another if it were three inches in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian says. “I’m fine.”

“Do you know the boys who did this to you? Could you identify them?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says before remembering the fact that the boys who tied him up did so from behind, and they put a pillowcase over his head first, so he never saw their faces. Then there’s Hunter, who didn’t touch him, and didn’t say anything about tying him up when they were in the room. In that case, even though Hunter was there, it would be Sebastian’s word against his that he planned this. If the other boys don’t confess, which they probably won’t, Hunter will most likely get away clean. “Most of them.”

“Well, I’m going to need identification, and a statement if you want to file a complaint.”

“Y-yeah,” Sebastian stutters. “Of course.”

“We should also contact your parents. I think that they should know what happened tonight.”

“No,” Sebastian says too quickly. “N-no, th-that’s alright. I’d rather they not know about any of this.” He says it, but he’s sure he’s too late. He knows the police aren’t likely to call his parents without his permission. Again … adult, which sounds lamer and lamer every time he reassures himself. But Sebastian knows _someone_ will, one of Hunter’s cronies, or even the Assistant Dean. All that bravado from earlier, even though he was correct in every word that he said, is steadily slipping away.

“You can go ahead and call me if you need anything,” Kurt intervenes, reaching into his back pocket and offering up his card. “He’ll be staying with me. I can have him down in the morning to make a statement, if that’s alright. But I think he needs to go somewhere safe and sleep for about ten hours.”

“That’s fine.” Officer Mitchells appears mildly conflicted, but it also seems like he doesn’t want to argue. “Just take pictures. Log injuries. You know the drill.”

“I know the drill,” Kurt says.

 _Drill?_ Sebastian thinks. _What drill?_ Something else he’ll need to bookmark for research later on.

Officer Mitchells takes one last look at the two of them and leaves, shutting the door behind them. Sebastian hears him talk to the Assistant Dean, telling him of Sebastian’s plans to leave with Kurt, saying a few other things else that Sebastian suspects smooths the way towards the Assistant Dean not stopping Sebastian at the door. He doesn’t know what that could possibly be, but he’s grateful for it. With every bone in his body, he needs to get out of here.

He always thought of Dalton as his second home. It doesn’t feel that way to him anymore.

The door opens one more time and Elliott sticks his head in. “Is everyone decent?”

“Yeah, Ells,” Kurt says, waving him in. “We’re good.”

“Damn.” Elliott slips on through and closes the door, shutting out any prying eyes lingering in the hallway. “I was hoping I might walk in on something _interesting_. Oh, well. Incidentally, I got a hold of this …” Elliott holds out a cell phone to Sebastian. “Nuffle-flutter at the door had it on him. The dork with the blond hair? By the way, I think you scared the shit out of that kid, Kurt. I overheard someone say something about him changing his pants. Good job.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Kurt says with a half-bow.

“Master?” Sebastian says. It takes Sebastian’s breath away how completely Kurt switches focus, directs all of his attention on him. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

Kurt puts a hand to Sebastian’s cheek, and Sebastian looks into his eyes. The whites of Kurt’s eyes are redder than Sebastian remembers them being when he first saw his Dom, but then he was so overwhelmed by Kurt being there, he wasn’t really paying attention. Could Kurt have been crying? “Anytime, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”

Sebastian turns to Elliott waiting silently with an unreadable expression lying beneath the usual under-impressed smirk he wears where Sebastian is concerned. “And … and thank you, too … _Sir_.”

Elliott grins devilishly at how Sebastian tacks that title on at the end, drops it like a hot rock in acid. Sebastian doesn’t like deferring to Elliott, and Elliott knows it. But at least he’s willing to respect Elliott, if for being nothing other than Kurt’s closest friend. That’s worth something in Elliott’s world.

Besides, tonight Elliott has begun to see with his own eyes what Kurt means when they argue about Sebastian, how far removed Sebastian is from these snots he goes to school with.

How far removed from a certain ex-asshole from Kurt’s past.

Sebastian might attend Dalton, but just like Kurt, that doesn’t necessarily make him a “Dalton boy”.

“Bullied by assholes? An outcast for being who you are? Made fun of by preppy pricks? That officially makes you one of us now, prep school.” Elliott grabs Sebastian’s duffel and his book bag off the floor. He punches Sebastian lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Elliott leaves, giving them a moment alone. He hurries down the hall with Sebastian’s things to Kurt’s Navigator parked outside. Sebastian hears Elliott bark like a dog to some boy who yelps. He wishes he knew who it was.

He hopes it was Jamie, that baby-faced shit licker. Maybe Elliott can make him go change his pants again.

It’s getting late. Sebastian can feel it seep under his skin, exhaustion piling on top of adrenaline, pushing it down so that the only thing keeping him upright is the thought of leaving with Kurt. Kurt gets Sebastian dressed, changes him into black jeans from his suitcase that match his own, a purple Henley that Sebastian never wears (“The color of royalty,” Kurt makes it a point to mention when Sebastian looks at it with a minor grimace), and the final touch, Kurt’s own leather jacket – one of his favorites, a piece of armor he wears when he feels the need for a little extra authority. A certain amount of inarguable punch. He exchanges it for his favorite peacoat of Sebastian’s – the one Kurt knows Sebastian is going to give him when he leaves him.

But Kurt refuses to think about that now. Because tonight, they leave together. And for the week, too. Kurt doesn’t want to give in to the giddy teenager inside that’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like he did that first time Blaine spent the night over at his house.

Back in Lima. Back in high school. Back before …

Well … another memory for another time.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Kurt asks, closing up Sebastian’s suitcase and extending the telescoping handle.

“Yes, Master. I think I am.” Sebastian reaches out to take it, but Kurt doesn’t let him. Kurt promised to take care of him, and he’s keeping that promise.

This is where it starts.

Kurt and Sebastian step out of Sebastian’s room, and Sebastian locks the door. Kurt sweeps the hall, eyeing the boys staring through cracked doors, waiting to see what he’s going to do, some of the more brazen ones standing with their doors wide open, haunting the hallway like they’ve got nothing to hide. When Kurt looks at Sebastian, his sub is looking at him, green eyes begging for a bit of courage to get him down the hallway and out the double doors.

And Kurt gives it to him.

“Come on, love,” he says, raising his voice so that this command, this _request_ , carries to the ears present. “Lets us go home.” Kurt slips his arm around Sebastian’s waist, threading his fingers in the belt loop at his hip. He rests his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, cuddling in close as if there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be. Then with a gentle nudge, he takes a step, then another, leading his sub along until, head held high, Sebastian makes his way down the hall, past the staring faces and the judgmental eyes, past Jamie and Thad and Hunter (wherever the fuck he was), past Jeff hugging his boyfriend, smiling and relieved, and out the door.


	29. A Dalton Boy Dying to Be Used

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Easter Sunday, and Kurt has chosen to observe the holiday at home with his sub instead of at his club, by eating chocolate and decorating ... eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another little scene to break up the tension from the last chapter to the next chapter (coming up soon). I wrote it in honor of Easter, but I felt a little sacrilege posting it yesterday, all things considered xD Dedicated to ForbiddenDusk, to whom my paint brush reference belongs (because she's an amazing, wonderful artist, so when I put artist specific things in a story, it's usually for her :D) because I miss her :(

“Are we staying here tonight, Master?” Sebastian asks, watching Kurt walk back in to the bedroom after being left for close to an hour unattended. Sebastian didn’t misbehave. He wouldn’t dream of it, and not just because he couldn’t move, bound on his back on the bed. Obedience is the road to reward in Kurt’s house, and reward is usually _Kurt_. Besides, Sebastian can’t assume that just because Kurt’s not in the room with him that he doesn’t know what Sebastian is up to.

Kurt has an uncanny sixth sense when it comes to Sebastian, which leads Sebastian to believe that Kurt has a nanny cam or two set up where Sebastian has yet to find them.

Kurt had left Sebastian tied to his bed comfortably, the way he does whenever they’re about to partake in a more _sensual_ session – silk scarves wrapped around his wrists and threaded underneath the mattress, pulling his arms out to his sides; ankles cuffed in fur-lined leather on the opposite end, keeping his legs spread. Kurt eliminates discomfort and forgoes the use of pain so that Sebastian can concentrate on absorbing pure, rapturous pleasure … and not respond to it.

Scenes like this are some of the hardest for Sebastian to handle because they skirt the boundaries of _emotion_. They’re psychologically taxing, straddling a border between Sebastian acting as an object, a mere receptacle, and being a lover. Kurt lavishes Sebastian with attention that shadows lovemaking – gentle caresses, tender kisses, and selfless body worship. Sebastian isn’t required to wear a blindfold or a gag. He is encouraged to watch Kurt work. He has permission to talk and moan, unless those privileges are specifically taken away, but the trade-off is that he doesn’t get to touch or kiss.

And he isn’t allowed to cum.

“We are, preppy,” Kurt answers, kicking the door shut behind him. Sebastian finds it odd and unnecessary that Kurt would do that, seeing as they’re in his house alone, but it’s a ritual for Kurt – a way to lock them inside their own little world, a space where ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers, work stress and school strife, have no place. It’s symbolic, the way almost everything with Kurt is steeped in symbolism, from his clothes to his décor to his intricate tattoos.

“But … don’t you need to be at the club? Don’t you have something special planned for Easter, Master?” Sebastian knows that Kurt usually spends his holidays at his club, and that he plans special theme events for his customers. Kurt’s club is more his home than his actual house is, and his regulars are like his family. Kurt is never alone when he’s at his club. There’s always someone available to fill his voids when he needs them filled. But since Kurt met Sebastian, they’ve spent the holidays together. Sebastian likes that. He likes the intimacy of having his Dom all to himself. Here in Kurt’s house, Sebastian doesn’t feel the pressure of having to act like the perfect submissive in front of anyone. He’s just Kurt’s sub here, in the most comfortable, erotic, and personal atmosphere imaginable … and he doesn’t have to fight for Kurt’s attention.

Though he has to less and less now. Kurt has developed a singular focus when Sebastian’s around, and that’s _Sebastian_.

That may mean that Sebastian undergoes more vigorous sessions, more inventive methods of fulfilling Kurt’s sadistic needs, but Sebastian’s not complaining.

Kurt extinguishes his clove in the purple ashtray on his bedside table before he climbs up onto the bed. With both hands occupied, his legs and abs do all of the work balancing his weight. Watching Kurt’s toned stomach clench above the waistband of his black lounge pants, the effort accentuating his six-pack, makes Sebastian, bound and immobile, salivate. It would be the greatest reward in the world to lick Kurt’s abs, nose his waistband down over his hips and work his mouth over his Dom’s cock.

But Sebastian knows that if he _wants_ Kurt’s cock, he’s going to have to _earn_ it.

“Yeah, we do, but it’s not my turn to wear the bunny costume this year.”

Sebastian has to bite his tongue hard not to snicker at the image his brain produces of Kurt dressed like a rough trade Easter Bunny, with a carrot-shaped dildo clutched in his furry-gloved hand, and a clove cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. But then, Kurt dressed in silky white panties, and wearing leather chaps along with fluffy ears and a tail, black kohl eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and a spiked collar around his neck … _that_ would be something to see.

“Besides, handing out candy and hiding eggs are the kinds of things that _littles_ like to do, and I’m not really down for that. Elliott’s much better at coordinating that crap than I am. I’d much rather celebrate at home.”

“Celebrate? But I thought you were an atheist, Master.”

“You don’t have to be religious to eat chocolate and paint eggs, preppy. You just have to be creative …” Kurt pauses, chills zipping down Sebastian’s spine with a flash of Kurt’s signature Grinch-like grin - the corners of his mouth curling up his cheeks while his brows draw together in the middle “… and _inspired_.”

Sebastian watches Kurt crawl between his legs carrying a palette of paints in his right hand, a paint brush and a towel in his left, but not a single egg in sight.

“Wh-what eggs, Master?” Sebastian asks, afraid that “eggs” might be a code they haven’t discussed yet.

Kurt’s face darkens, the kiss he blows signifying that something deliciously devious is about to begin.

“ _Yours_ , preppy,” he says, nudging Sebastian’s balls with his knee. Kurt puts his palette down carefully between Sebastian’s thighs and lays his towel over his sub’s left knee. The brush, he keeps. He holds it between his thumb and his fingertips, holding it up for Sebastian to see. “Today we’ll be using a Da Vinci Maestro Round Brush, size 16, with bristles of Siberian Kolinsky Red Sable fur.”

Sebastian nods as if any of that meant anything to him. He’s never taken an art class. The last time he tried his hand at painting a picture, he was using a Crayola watercolor set, and he was maybe ten years old. But Sebastian goes completely speechless at the mention of sable. One of his mother’s favorite coats while Sebastian was growing up was made of sable. Sebastian had a kind of creepy love affair with petting the damned thing behind his mother’s back (which means, ironically, that Sebastian spent a great deal of his formative years in a literal closet). Sable is one of the softest materials Sebastian can imagine touching his skin, aside from Kurt’s own magnificent tongue.

And if Kurt is implying what Sebastian _knows_ he’s implying, he’s going to be painting Sebastian’s junk with it.

Kurt scoops up a dollop of bright pink paint onto his bristles and lowers the brush slowly to Sebastian’s crotch, while Sebastian’s eyes, wide and unblinking, follow his every move. With the lightest touch, Kurt swirls the bristles over the head of Sebastian’s cock, covering it completely in pink paint, then outlines the ridge. Sebastian swallows hard as Kurt strokes, fighting not to close his eyes at the delectable tickle of his delicate swipes.

“We’ll get you _all_ decorated from abs to anus, then we’ll take some photographs,” Kurt mutters. He wipes excess paint off on the towel, then switches to green, and paints a stem and leaves down Sebastian’s shaft to go with his now pink tulip head. Sebastian imagines the tip of that brush circling his entrance the second Kurt suggests it, wet like Kurt’s tongue but cold, the stiff but soft point of the bristles dancing inside. His cock bobs without permission, blurring the line Kurt was creating, but Kurt doesn’t look upset by it. He looks _pleased_. Every bob, every pearl of pre-cum leaking from the tip, is a strike against Sebastian – another golden opportunity for punishment. Kurt licks his lips as he changes colors, and starts a line of smaller, red flowers down Sebastian’s shaft over the drying green paint. “Mmm, I absolutely _adore_ this body paint, preppy. It’s one of my favorites. You have _no_ idea.”

“A-and why’s that, Master?” Sebastian asks, stuttering when Kurt’s brush dips down and around, glancing ever so gently behind his balls. Sebastian is thankful he has permission to talk. He needs the conversation to keep his attention away from what Kurt’s doing. If he wants to last, he needs to start thinking of something other than this implement that feels too much like a tongue stroking his skin.

But Kurt knows. He knows what Sebastian’s small talk means. He can appreciate coping mechanisms. Everyone has them, even the great Kurt Hummel.

But Kurt doesn’t like easy ways out. _That_ he considers cheating.

Kurt winks at Sebastian while making another blind stroke along the base of his sub’s cock, one that finally drags the moan that’s been building in Sebastian’s throat past his lips.

“Because it’s made of _chocolate_ ,” Kurt says, “which means it’s _edible_.” Kurt chuckles when Sebastian swallows again, and an actual, “Oh God,” takes the place of the second moan in his throat. If Sebastian can’t stand strong against a paint brush, what will he do against Kurt’s talented tongue, especially when he’s not allowed to cum? “And I do _love_ me some chocolate.”


	30. A Dalton Boy in the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt needs Sebastian's total surrender, and he has interesting means of getting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'sound', and takes place probably over Christmas break, maybe some time after. I know it's a bit on the short side, but to be honest, these holiday challenge prompts strike me as the kinds of things that are fulfilled with snippets, not fully fleshed out chapters. This is a glimpse into what they do together, and I think it stands fine as is. Also, not to be a jerk, but a review or two would not go amiss. Seriously. When I update this series, I'll get hundreds of reads ... and two reviews, if I'm lucky. If you're reading this and enjoying it, would it kill you to leave a "Hot!" or something in the comment line? One of the reasons why this is going up in May when I started writing it in December is because it was slightly on the difficult side. So show some respect for the work you consume - not only mine, but everyone's. Would you really go into a restaurant for a meal knowing that you had no intention of leaving a tip, regardless of how good the food and service was? You get what you give. <3

“What kind of music you into, preppy?” Kurt asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. With the red ball gag in Sebastian’s mouth, larger than their usual, and secured extra tight, pulling his cheeks back into an open-mouth grimace, Sebastian can’t answer. He can only sniff thru his nose and drool uncontrollably – not exactly an attractive look, but it makes Kurt smile. But Kurt isn’t looking at him right now, pacing with his iPod in his hands, switching between playlists in search of the perfect one.

And by perfect, he means one that will wear at the corners of Sebastian’s sanity. He needs Sebastian raw, frayed, a trembling mass of nerves and reflexes, utterly disoriented. He wants to alter time in Sebastian’s mind, turn the world on its head.

He needs Sebastian’s total surrender.

And Kurt has decided to get it with a cocktail of sensory deprivation and overload.

“Because I see you as a Top 40s sort of boy.” Kurt walks back and forth in front of his sub who can’t see him - a black, silk blindfold secured over his eyes; and can’t touch him - arms bound straight out at his sides. All Sebastian can do is listen as Kurt talks; feel as Kurt preps him for today’s session by securing a vibrating wand up his ass, and another to his cock with bondage tape. “But that’s a symptom of being a Warbler. I mean, do they even sing anything else?” Kurt pauses. In the space, Sebastian tries to grumble an answer. When nothing intelligible comes out of Sebastian’s mouth, just a grunt and more drool, Kurt continues. “No. That’s right, preppy. They don’t. But seeing as it _is_ Christmas time, I think we’ll pick something more traditional. Festive.”

Kurt walks up to Sebastian and stands face to face with him, nose to nose so that Sebastian knows he’s there.

“How do you feel about carols, preppy? Oh, wait a minute.” Kurt snickers. “You sing with a show choir, so I know you _love_ them.”

Sebastian groans inside his head because Christmas carols and sex? Not his favorite combination. Jamie tried to blow him once while “Silent Night” played in the background. Sebastian isn’t at all religious, but the big, swelling, dramatic choir singing their praises to the baby Jesus killed his boner dead.

“So, now that we’ve got that settled, we’ll just stick these over your ears …” Kurt fits a pair of noise cancelling headphones onto Sebastian’s head, the earpieces completely covering his ears. They work so well that, if Kurt says anything after that, Sebastian doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear anything until the music starts, and when it does, he wishes more than anything that he could go back to the quiet.

Kurt switches the vibrators on at contrasting speeds – the one on his cock to high while the one in his ass simmers at a medium pulse-pulse-stop, pulse-pulse-stop, mere centimeters away from his prostate. After that, Sebastian feels nothing else from Kurt. In fact, Sebastian doesn’t know whether Kurt leaves or not. He sure as hell can’t hear him, and with the spreader bar between his ankles pushing his legs apart, then tied to the bed frame in a way that keeps him elevated on his toes, vibrations on the floor are muffled.

Sebastian tries to remain stoic with “Jingle Bell Rock” blasting in his ears – not loud enough to hurt, but loud enough to be fucking annoying, so much so that by the first refrain, he’s already done with this Christmas carol bullshit. But before too long, the song finishes, and Sebastian takes a breather. That’s fine. He got through that one. Now to focus on the next one. There’s got to be hundreds of Christmas carols in the world. Even if one or two repeat, it’ll be fine. He realizes that these songs are going to become his sole focus, and that should be a blessing since it’ll effectively block out everything else. The wand buzzing in his ass, taunting his prostate - he can shove that aside. The vibrator strapped to his cock - _that_ he can ignore, too, as long as he has the crutch of this music in his head.

As long as he concentrates on loathing it, then everything will be fine.

Except it’s not.

Because the next song that comes up on the playlist is –

_Rockin’ around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop …_

Jesus Christ! Did Kurt just put this one song on repeat? Why would he _do_ that?

Because he’s a sadistic bastard, Sebastian thinks, the tiny voice in his head following that up with _duh_.

It takes a few minutes of listening, a few minutes of seething, but Sebastian realizes that no. Kurt did something way _worse_ than just put this one song on repeat _,_ because after one more full repetition of “Jingle Bell Rock”, it plays again, stops in the middle, and jumps to the next song – “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”

But as nerve rattling as that is, it’s actually somewhat of a relief. It takes Sebastian’s mind off of how irritating this is by giving him the chance to judge.

_“Do They Know It’s Christmas?” The official anthem for white saviors everywhere? Does anyone even listen to this song anymore? Why in the world would Kurt have this?_

Two verses in, Sebastian knows why.

For one, it’s obnoxious as hell, but with its repetitive refrain, it becomes demonic when messed with. It starts to slow down, the voices in the chorus melting, becoming cartoonish, disturbing. Then it skids, actually makes a scratching noise like a needle being pulled off a record, which is jarring as shit. Sebastian can’t help but be impressed by Kurt’s conviction to the devious that he would find a digital file with the inclusion of a record scratch.

But as the music in the headset continues, not a single song plays to the end. It throws him off, sets his teeth on edge. They would grind except for the ball gag in his mouth keeping his jaw separate. Because of all of the skips and jumps, songs stopping in the middle, rewinding to the beginning and starting over again, and then becoming other songs – sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not – Sebastian can’t determine how long he’s been there.

The vibrating on his cock has long since stopped feeling anything close to good. Now it’s just pure pain, the buzzing on his skin like the drilling of a small, hard needle into his penis. As for the one in his ass, it’s giving him a headache. He feels the vibrations in the base of his skull, the dark behind the blindfold shuddering. He doesn’t see it with his eyes, but with his brain, and it’s making his forehead numb. His upper lip itches, and he needs to sneeze. He pulls his arms in reflexively to rub the sensation away, but between the cuffs and the ropes keeping his arms outstretched, he’s tied too tight.

Sebastian can’t hear the noises he makes over the music playing in the headphones - stopping, starting, scratching, playing backwards - not even in his own head, but what he feels coming up from his chest and working its way around the ball gag seems almost animal. And it doesn’t stop, his throat going dry, forcing a cough out of him so violent, it’s hard to breathe.

The music stops dead. Sebastian doesn’t register the cut off, so he doesn’t relax, hanging on the beveled edge for the next horrible rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” to begin. Maybe it’ll be at double speed. Maybe it’ll be in Spanish. Maybe it’ll be at double speed _and_ in Spanish – backwards. But the music doesn’t return. The headphones hugging the sides of his face release, lifting off his head and away.

“Okay, preppy, okay,” Kurt coos. “Let’s get you unhooked before I liquefy your brain.”

Sebastian’s ears ring with the remnants of “Jingle Bell Rock”. Kurt removes the ball gag. When the straps are undone and the gag removed, Sebastian drops his head. He rolls his bottom jaw, sore from clenching around the ball. He opens his mouth to speak, but he has no words, those repeated lyrics pounding in his ears alongside the high-pitched ripping of the record scratch.

Sebastian sniffs. With the ball gag in his mouth and the music in his ears, he hadn’t realized he’d been crying in frustration.

“Oh, preppy,” Kurt coddles condescendingly as he turns off the vibrators and removes them from his sub’s body. “What can I do for you, hmm?”

Sebastian shakes his head. He moves his mouth, but sound has yet to come out, his throat so dry it stings. Kurt grabs a bottle of Aquafina from his bedside table and hands it to Sebastian.

“Here. Have some of this. It’ll make it easier to talk.”

Sebastian nods and cracks the bottle open. Once the water touches his lips and he starts to drink, he doesn’t lower it till it’s empty.

“If I fucked your mouth, would that make you feel better, preppy?”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian mumbles, tossing the bottle aside and dropping to his knees. He rubs his head against Kurt’s crotch like a dog seeking comfort. Kurt undoes his fly and lowers his jeans down his thighs. He leans forward, positioning the head of his cock at his sub’s lips. This blowjob isn’t gratuitous. Kurt’s not taking advantage. Sebastian needs something to ground him, and his connection to Kurt is the best possible way to do that.

So what if it’s the exact reaction that Kurt was hoping for?

Sebastian whines low in his throat, muttering a quick, “Thank you, Master,” before wrapping his lips around him.

“Anytime,” Kurt moans, throwing his head back as Sebastian makes quick work of taking Kurt’s cock completely down his throat. “You know how much I love to help.”


	31. A Dalton Boy Paying for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stressing over finals - and everything else that the end of the school year heralds - Sebastian goes out trolling dark corners for a little "companionship".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompt "exhange". (Yes, I'm still writing these in May. xD I had a whole bunch of these guys half-written and never completed them, so here they are. Also remember that comments equal love, or, at least, a slap on the ass. So give many. I am a masochist xD) Oh, and hey - if you think that my writing is, I don't know, hammy or half-baked or something along those lines, here's a tip - either don't read it, or have the balls to leave me a comment so I can tell you point blank exactly how little I care about your opinion. Ops! I guess I just did though, huh?

“Hey, honey. You lookin’ for a good time?”

Sebastian would groan at the cliché nature of that particular pick-up line if the man leaning in through his window weren’t so damn stunning.

“Maybe,” he says, trying to act as suave as an eighteen-year-old can in the face of the sexiest prostitute he’s ever laid eyes on. “Why don’t you get in and find out?”

“I don’t know.” The man stalls, chewing his lip. “I mean, I _am_ digging the car …”

“You like the Porsche?”

“I like the Porsche,” he says with a coy chuckle. “But I still need to see something that’ll convince me you’re not an ax murder. I _am_ meeting you in the parking lot behind an abandoned Burger King.”

“What about ...” Sebastian reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wad of cash bound together by a silver clip “… five large?”

The man’s eyes pop open. “That’s a good start.” He swipes the bills from Sebastian’s hand, clip and all, and shoves them in his pocket. “Let me in, honey.”

Sebastian unlocks the door and the man gets inside. He slides into the passenger side and immediately reclines the seat.

“Mmm.” He settles in to the leather with a shimmy of his ass. His eyelids flutter closed and he sighs. “I _really_ like your car”

Sebastian watches him make himself at home, stumped as to what he’s supposed to do now. He just paid $500 for this man’s time, which presumably comes with access to his body. Does he just jump the guy, or …?

“Did you have an idea what you wanted to do, honey?”

Sebastian raises a brow. Sexy _and_ psychic. “Yes. A few things, actually.”

“Did you want to get started? Or would you rather watch?” The man doesn’t open his eyes, but runs a hand down his body, starting at his neck, traveling to his pants, heading for the button to his fly.

“Well, for $500 I had hoped to participate.”

The man opens an eyelid, peeking at Sebastian with one startlingly blue eye as he pulls down the zip to his jeans. “Then participate.”

“Okay …” Sebastian says, eyes glued to the hand fiddling with the zip, dragging it open tooth by tooth. “Do you follow the _Pretty Woman_ school of sex work, or do you kiss your customers?”

“Do you like kissing?” The zip reaches a definite end, and the man slips his hand inside his jeans.

“Depends on who I’m kissing.” Sebastian tries to remain cool, confident, but with the man’s hand moving steadily, palming where Sebastian can’t see, causing him to roll his head and moan, he’s not really succeeding.

This is becoming a trend for Sebastian – floundering in the face of a sexy older man.

“Do you _wanna_ kiss me?” the man asks in a sultry whisper.

“ _Very_ much.”

The man stops palming. He looks Sebastian full in the face and grins. “Well, then. It looks like today might be your lucky day.”

He grabs the front of Sebastian’s t-shirt with his free hand and pulls him over the center console, raising his head to meet Sebastian’s mouth halfway as if he can hardly wait to kiss him. Sebastian expects the man to taste bitter, like cigarettes and alcohol. He _is_ selling his body in a parking lot. But his mouth tastes cool and sweet, like peppermint, with only the slightest tang from what could be a clove cigarette. His lips feel soft against Sebastian’s, smooth from vanilla-flavored lip balm, and he smells like jasmine.

It’s a combination that makes Sebastian hungry in more ways than one.

“Can I touch you?” Sebastian asks the second the man breaks their kiss.

“If you want,” he replies, not letting Sebastian get too far away just yet, chasing another kiss. “But just so you know - you break it, you buy it.”

“Fair enough.”

Sebastian is itching to shove his hand down the man’s pants, pick up where he left off, but he also doesn’t want to end things too quickly. That would be a pretty anticlimactic way to flush $500 down the drain. Though maybe Sebastian could convince him to go to a hotel with him. He could give him another $500 to make things last longer.

While Sebastian thinks up a way to broach the subject, he puts a hand to the man’s cheek. He looks in his eyes for a moment, seeing a gentle teasing that seems very familiar, then he kisses him. His hand slides down to his chest, a thumb brushing a nipple through his thin shirt as it makes its way further down to his abs. It’s the man who takes Sebastian’s hand by the wrist and leads it to his open fly, quietly asking him to do what Sebastian had just imagined.

Sebastian slips his hand inside. He was all for just stroking him while he kissed him, tormenting him with tender touches and alternating speeds, until he realizes – he’s not wearing any underwear. That changes the game completely because now Sebastian needs to see him, see what’s hiding beneath that skin-tight denim.

“Get on up, babe,” Sebastian commands. “I need to get at you.”

“Alright, bossy.” The man giggles, switching to his knees, his hands bracing against the headrest. Sebastian grabs the waistband of his jeans and pulls them down over his ass and his muscular thighs. Sebastian rolls to his hip, his leg cramping, torqued the way it is in the snug space of his car seat, but he needs to see more, needs to see everything. The man’s skin glows in the blue light from outside, emphasizing every cut of muscle, every hair on his legs, every knob in his spine. Beneath that light, this man becomes abstract art, encompassing both the defined elegance of a Michelangelo statue, and the implied loneliness of an Edward Hopper painting.

Sebastian muses over that description of this man and sighs. Fuck AP Art History! He needs to simonize his head and get his finals off the brain so he can blow off some frickin’ steam!

Sebastian parts the man’s cheeks to examine his entrance, eager to lick and suck and hear him moan, but it’s not his puckered hole that greets him.

“What do you have this in for?” Sebastian asks, flicking the end of a rather larger, silver plug.

“Let’s just say it aids the process. It’s not like you’re the only man I’ll be seeing tonight.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sebastian mutters.

“What’s that, honey?”

“I said, what do I get to do to you?”

The man grins. “Whatever you want.”

“Really?”

“A-ha.”

“So, let’s say, I wanted to do this …” Sebastian grabs the base of the plug and pulls. He twists, then pushes in. The man straddling his seat arches his back.

“Y-yes,” he moans. “That would be acceptable.”

“And what about this?” Sebastian leans over and licks his balls.

“God!” the man gasps. “Y-yes. That’s fine.”

“And what if I did …?” Sebastian loses the last word when he sucks one of the man’s testicles into his mouth, reaching around him to grab hold of his cock and lightly stroke.

“God,” the man groans. “Yes. Yes, you can do tha---holy shit! Fuck!” He shudders as Sebastian pulls the plug back, then slips it forward, fucking him with it. “Yes,” he whimpers, gripping onto the car seat, making it shake. “Yes, yes, God, yes!”

“You like that?” Sebastian whispers behind the juncture of his thigh.

“Yes,” he whines. “Yes, God …”

“You know, God isn’t here right now,” Sebastian says, appropriating a remark once made by a lover that he enjoyed so much, “but I am. So why don’t you use my name instead?”

“And what name would that be?” the man asks, crouching lower, trying to find Sebastian’s mouth again.

“Sebastian.”

“Sebastian,” the man whispers as Sebastian’s tongue circles his perineum. “Sebastian … oh, Sebastian … mmm …”

“That’s it, baby,” Sebastian mumbles against the tender skin of his undercarriage – his sack, the base of his cock, and occasionally his gaping hole. He pulls the plug out completely and gives his rim a lick, ghosting the skin with the barest tip of his tongue. “Just keep saying it, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Fist me, Sebastian?” The man fumbles in his pocket for a bottle of lube and what looks like a latex glove before Sebastian even says yes. But, what? Was he really going to say _no_?

“Yes,” Sebastian says, catching the glove and the lube as it flies in his direction. “Of course.” He snaps the glove on his left hand, covers it in lube, then slowly enters the man’s incredible ass one digit at a time. He’s not able to lick him while doing this – he’d need a snake neck to accomplish it - so he relies on his right hand to stroke, timing the movements of his two hands so that his right hand reaches the head of the man’s cock just as Sebastian pulls his fist out of his ass, and then synchronizes them in reverse.

“God … Jesus … _Christ_!” the man moans, biting into his knuckle. “Maybe I should be paying _you_ for this!”

“You could always make it up to me,” Sebastian says. “Come back to my place. Tie me up and spank me.”

“Mmm, that sounds right up my alley.” The man bucks back on Sebastian’s hand and fucks his fist, taking over when Sebastian becomes slower, weaker, his arms locking up in the position they’re in. But the man doesn’t seem to mind. It actually seems to turn him on, being in control. “Yes,” he whimpers. “Yes, yes, yes …” Sebastian chuckles at the man’s chanting, glossy-eyed as he stares out the rear windshield. The man’s asshole around Sebastian’s hand feels just as erotic as if he were fucking Sebastian’s dick.

He will be later, Sebastian reminds himself. Once Sebastian gets him out of this parking lot and into an actual bedroom.

Sebastian pushes through discomfort to pick up his pace, and the man quivers, which surprises Sebastian because they haven’t been going at it that long. He must have been primed and ready before Sebastian even got there. What was he doing? Did he have another client? Sebastian doesn’t think so. He looks and smells too clean. Was he playing with himself, alone in the dark, getting ready for whoever might roll up?

Or the impossible, the true fantasy – Sebastian turns this man on so damn much that he wasn’t going to last from the second he got in the car.

His car! The man said he likes Sebastian’s car. With heart punching disappointment, Sebastian realizes his car might be the real reason this man is fucking his fist and his hand so hardcore. But then he moans Sebastian’s name, over and over, shamelessly like he means it. It doesn’t take the sting completely away, but it rebuilds his confidence, and he thinks, _‘Well, if the car’s not the reason, it probably doesn’t hurt.’_

The man starts moaning Sebastian’s name so loudly, Sebastian becomes afraid the police will notice and stop to see what’s wrong. Sebastian considers shushing him (which seems extremely rude) after a pair of headlights sweeps their way, but then the man whimpers, “I’m cumming … I’m cumming … I’m …” and Sebastian can’t care less who finds them. Let the cops come over. Sebastian’s going to finish this man off first, then worry about the consequences afterwards.

The man goes quiet, body rigid, thighs trembling as Sebastian fists him through his orgasm. It’s the most amazing spectacle of sexual abandon Sebastian has seen in a long time; this gorgeous man impaled on his fist, captured in his hand, surrendering in the passenger seat of his car. It brings back memories of all the other times he’s done something similar in his car, but with only one man – a man who would never have surrendered so easily.

The man drops his head as he continues to shake, muttering Sebastian’s name while Sebastian holds his cock, throbbing, milking itself dry in his hand. Aftershocks hit in the form of small tremors, but after they pass, the man opens his eyes and stares at the mess he’s made with a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

“I think I may have doused your seat there.” He runs a finger through the streak of white, then licks it off his finger.

“That’s alright.” Sebastian licks his lips, wishing he could help. He’s about to reach out and take a taste – it _is_ his car that’s been defiled, after all – when the man grabs a spare white t-shirt Sebastian keeps in the back and wipes the seat clean.

“So” – the man locks eyes with Sebastian, panting in the heat of the car – “what did you think of that, honey?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. The man nods.

“Scene over, preppy.”

“The position was a little awkward, Master, but I have to say, I quite enjoyed it.” Sebastian liked having Kurt at his mercy. Even though Kurt still had the power – he’d set the scene, decided on the parameters, chosen the spot - Sebastian enjoyed the illusion of control he had over Kurt, the power to play with him.

“Good,” Kurt says, smug smile glowing on his face, “because I want us to do that again … a _lot_. Except maybe next time I get to drive the fancy car and you get to be the whore.”

“So, roleplaying, huh?” Sebastian asks, watching a sated Kurt zip up his jeans and flop back in his seat.

“Yup. It’s a good way to clear your head. Being someone else, someone who’s 180 degrees not you, can really take you away from your issues. Way more than green bud, and I don’t touch the harder shit.” Kurt watches Sebastian’s eyes cloud with concern, and rolls his eyes with a frustrated huff. He grabs his sub’s face and pinches his cheeks. “Or just have some fun. Didn’t you have fun there, preppy?”

“Yes, Master. I did.” Sebastian doesn’t entirely buy that what they did was _just for fun_ , but there are things that, when Kurt wants them, Sebastian gives without question as long as he’s green.

And this time around, he was definitely green.

“So” – Kurt curls into Sebastian’s side, rubbing his cheek against his sub’s shoulder like a horny cat – “didn’t you say something about going back to my place so we can fuck?”

“I’m not sure I put it exactly that way, Master.” Sebastian snags the opportunity to kiss the top of his Dom’s head while he has it. These moments, when Kurt is sitting lower than Sebastian and Sebastian can kiss him atop the head, are rare. It may not seem like a big thing to the outside observer, but to Sebastian, it means a great deal.

It almost feels like Sebastian is taking care of his Dom.

“Meh. I’m paraphrasing. Here” - Kurt digs the wad of cash out of his pocket and passes it back to him - “put these bad boys back with their friends.” He blows out a breath through pursed lips. “I still can’t believe a boy your age is packin’ hundreds the way you do. Have you ever heard of armed robbery?”

Sebastian reaches for his wallet, but then he stops, considering the cash pinched between Kurt’s fingers.

“Why don’t you keep it, Master?” he says experimentally. “Like you said, I’ve got more than enough.”

Kurt looks at Sebastian, face blank with disbelief, and Sebastian holds his breath, ready to be punished for his mistake. He hopes it’s not too drastic. They fucked before they came here. He really wants the chance to fuck again when they get back to Kurt’s club, in whatever form that comes. From the look on Kurt’s face, Sebastian might find himself suspended from the ceiling with something electric up his ass and a seed pod clamped around his erection. But suddenly, Kurt laughs so hard he snorts, slapping his thigh and shaking his head as if Sebastian just told him the most hysterical joke in the universe, and Sebastian relaxes. Luckily for him, Kurt looks more amused than offended. He probably thinks Sebastian is pulling his leg.

Even though Sebastian is very much not kidding. He’d give his Master anything, anything he asked for.

 _Anything_.

“I don’t need your money, preppy. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be right taking it from you.” Kurt leans over Sebastian’s body and slips the cash in his pants pocket while pressing a light kiss and a smile to the corner of his mouth.

Sebastian returns the kiss, deepens it. He can’t help it. He loves kissing Kurt. In this world he’s found himself entrenched in of societal taboos, kissing like this, _vanilla_ kissing, is the most exotic thing of all.

Kurt lets Sebastian kiss him, but not for too long. Because if he lets Sebastian keep kissing him, they’ll never leave, and whether Kurt likes it or not, they can’t spend all night in Sebastian’s Porsche. He backs away, licking Sebastian off his lips with a devious, twitchy grin on his face. He turns the key in the ignition, eager to get back to his club.

To get back to playing with his sub.

“But if it’s burning holes so badly in there, why don’t you use it to get me something nice? Something _expensive_ , hmm?”

“Absolutely, Master.” Sebastian puts his car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot, thinking - _How about another club?_


	32. A Dalton Boy Heartbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Kurt gets Sebastian home, it's time to start helping him heal.
> 
> But that's a difficult thing to do when you're kind of a mess yourself.
> 
> (Follows A Dalton Boy Intervention)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of assault, bruises pertaining to non-consensual violence, and thoughts of self-harm. Also warning for mention of Blaine and some Blaine wank - particularly what happened between Kurt and Blaine back when they were dating. If you can stomach it, please read it, as it's pertinent to Kurt's backstory. Otherwise, just stop reading at the bolded words and pick up again at the bolded words, and remember for later installments - Blaine bad xD

Kurt has wanted to drive a Porsche ever since he was introduced to one working part time at his father’s auto shop. Flat 6, manual transmission, 300 horsepower, all-wheel drive, and in his all-time favorite car color.

Ink black.

Because of liability issues, sixteen-year-old and newly licensed Kurt Hummel wasn’t allowed to even back it out of the bay.

But he could sit in the driver’s seat while he polished the leather interior and daydream.

He did get another potential opportunity to drive one as an adult. The first time his club turned a profit, he took himself down to the closest Porsche dealership to celebrate its success. He was going to go for a test drive and finally get the feel of one. He’d wanted to give himself a goal to strive for, wanted to prove to himself that everything was going to be alright.

That he hadn’t just _survived_ , but that he could _thrive_.

Kurt Hummel belonged in the driver’s seat of a Porsche. He knew that for a fact.

But he backed out at the last minute, old doubts cropping up to spoil his fun: _What if his success was temporary? What if his club was only bringing in business because it was new and edgy? What if, when the thrill wore off, everything went belly up?_

So he put his test drive on the back burner and let it simmer there, on hold until he knew for sure.

He didn’t want to risk falling in love with something he might not be able to keep.

Sebastian has a gorgeous car – a truly exceptional piece of machinery. And it’s not factory, either. It’s a special edition, which makes it a little more painful that it’s being driven around Ohio by a boy who can’t legally drink yet. But the more time Kurt spends with Sebastian, the less he sees that as a travesty, and the more he’s begun to equate that handsome car with its owner. They’re one in the same – sleek, classy, powerful … and out of Kurt’s league.

Kurt has been fiending to drive Sebastian’s car for _months_ , and now he is. Sitting in the driver’s seat (which fits him like a glove), flying down the highway, with that phenomenal engine purring seductively in his ears, should feel like a dream come true.

But it doesn’t. Not when he gets to drive it like _this_.

When Kurt and Sebastian left the dorms, the jackals converged. Knowing that following them out into the parking lot would be asking for trouble from the assistant dean, the boys stopped at the main threshold. Others chose to look down from the windows like kings on high watching the commoners flee. Kurt ignored them. It was easy.

He’s had a fair amount of practice treating losers like they don’t exist.

But as Kurt started loading Sebastian’s stuff into his Navigator, with Elliott already behind the wheel, Sebastian turned to look at his Porsche sitting alone beneath its cover in the parking lot. That car, more than anything he owned, symbolizes him. It’s like an extension of him. He isn’t the only boy on campus who drives a Porsche, but his is still a part of his identity. Everyone knows that car.

Everyone knows its owner.

“M-master?” Sebastian said softly so as not to bring attention to the title.

“Yes, preppy?”

“Would it be alright if we took my car with us? If I leave it behind, I’m afraid …”

Kurt looked from his sub’s eyes up and around to those watching them, some with the gall to smirk. If these assholes could tie a living human being to a chair against his will with a pillowcase over his head and a gag stuffed in his mouth, then they were definitely capable of destroying Sebastian’s car.

And of finding some way of getting away with it.

It was just a car, an object, not equal to Sebastian’s health or his life, but that wasn’t the point. The goal of tonight’s little escapade was to tear Sebastian down. Kurt knew that. And he wasn’t about to give these assholes any more ammunition.

“Of course, preppy,” Kurt said with a vindictive smile. “I catch your drift. You have the keys?”

Sebastian felt his pockets, fear creeping into his eyes at the thought that he may have left them behind and would have to go back for them.

He could do it with Kurt by his side, but he really didn’t want to.

But, luckily, he ended up finding them. He pulled them out and held them up.

“Well, let’s get to it, preppy,” Kurt said, pointing the way. “I’m getting sick of the stench of bullshit that permeates this place.”

“W-would you drive, Master?” Sebastian asked suddenly. “I---I don’t think I can.”

Kurt stared at the keys in Sebastian’s hands, salivating like they were an expertly prepared prime rib. He was fully prepared to leap on that grenade; his whole body had been ready for this moment for a while. But those keys held out to him, jingling slightly as Sebastian trembled, clawed through him. Sebastian had once joked that Kurt could beat him within an inch of his life, but no one drove his baby. When it came down to it, it wasn’t Kurt who’d beaten Sebastian into submission, and that made Kurt’s blood boil. Not because he felt cheated, but because this boy he cared for, whom he had taken responsibility for, had been abused non-consensually, and Kurt hadn’t been able to stop it.

Kurt hadn’t been able, by his name or his claim, to protect him.

Kurt checks the rear view for Elliott following behind them in his Navigator, then looks at Sebastian, sitting in the seat beside him, arms wrapped around himself, eyes closed. Kurt isn’t sure whether or not Sebastian is actually asleep. He wouldn’t be surprised if Sebastian _did_ fall asleep after the night he had, but he seems _too_ at peace. _He’s probably just sorting things out in his head_ , Kurt thinks. Or maybe he’s taking advantage of the dark in the car and the lull of the engine to think of nothing, feel nothing. Either way, Kurt decides not to bother him. There’ll be time for talking later on.

Sebastian has earned the right to disappear for a while.

It’s not a long drive from Dalton to Kurt’s house; it only seems to take longer. Along the way, Kurt occupies his mind putting together lists – things he needs to buy since he’ll be feeding the two of them (even though he’s already taken to stocking his cabinets double since Sebastian is over at his house all the good God dammed time), phone calls he has to make, appointments he’ll need to re-arrange, events he’ll need to postpone.

And he should ask Elliott to slide him a little extra green bud. He has a feeling he and Sebastian are going to burn through what’s left of his stash before the weekend’s out.

Kurt pulls Sebastian’s Porsche into his driveway while Elliott parks the SUV behind it, shielding the car from view and trapping it in. Kurt doesn’t know if Sebastian’s _friends_ have any other plans, or if they know where he lives, but he’s not putting anything past the little fuckers. With the amount of money and resources among them, who knows what they think they can accomplish.

Better safe than sorry.

“Alright, preppy.” Kurt cuts the engine, but Sebastian doesn’t turn around, which leaves Kurt talking to his back. “We’re here.”

Sebastian nods. “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” His voice sounds lifeless, monotone, but beneath the lack of emotion, it shakes ever so slightly.

Kurt puts a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and squeezes. “It’s gonna be alright, preppy. I promise. I’m gonna get you through this.”

“I know, Master,” Sebastian says, trying to sound chipper. “I trust you.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say to that. Hopefully, he’ll find a way to be more brilliant once he gets Sebastian inside. He still blames himself, still thinks that if he was better at his fucking job, this would have never happened. But _how_? _How_ was he supposed to know? How could he have anticipated this?

He couldn’t have. Kurt got his intel second-hand, and nothing Sebastian has ever said about those assholes led Kurt to believe that they were capable of something like this. But teachers? Coaches? Adult-type authority figures who see these kids day in and day out? _They_ should have been savvy. By all accounts, Kurt didn’t drop the ball. _Dalton Academy_ did.

Which makes Sebastian another poor soul that Dalton promised to protect, and then failed to deliver.

“Take your time, preppy,” Kurt says, opening the car door. “I’m just gonna go send Elliott on his way.”

“Yes, Master.”

Kurt climbs out of the car. Elliott, striding over, tosses Kurt the keys to his Navigator.

“Thanks for this, Ells.” Kurt catches his keys and goes in for a hug. “I owe you one.”

“It’s cool.” Elliott hugs Kurt hard while he has the chance. He gets the feeling he’s not going to see him again for a few days. “It’s not like I had much going on tonight anyway.”

“Really? I cut short your first scene in weeks, and you’re giving me that dismissive shit?”

Elliott shrugs one shoulder. “This was more important.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to screw up this moment by saying something too sentimental or teasing. All he’s wanted since that stupid Christmas party was for Elliott and Sebastian to get along. Kurt knows Sebastian is willing. Sebastian will do whatever it takes to please Kurt. It’s Elliott who’s been acting like a mule.

Maybe this is the start of Kurt watching that tide turn. Elliott _did_ tell Sebastian that what happened to him tonight officially makes him one of them.

Does Elliott actually believe that?

Elliott glances over at the car with Kurt’s sub sitting inside. They watch him silently, waiting for him to move. When he doesn’t, the weight of what happened that evening settles heavily between them, bringing with it stomach-turning memories of past bullying, past violence.

“Take care of your boy, Kurt,” Elliott says, a thickness in his voice that Kurt has only heard a handful of times before. It’s as much empathy as it is sympathy. “Give him a few swats on the ass for me.”

“Will do.” Kurt watches Elliott stroll over to his motorcycle parked against the garage door, concealed by the shadows the roof throws beneath the light of the moon. He climbs on, puts on his helmet, throws the kickstand up, and backs down the driveway. He fires the engine, shifts it into gear, pulls a slow turn toward the street, and drives away. Kurt watches him go, as perplexed as he is relieved by his friend’s behavior tonight. He could chalk it up to the fact that Elliott loves him, and despite his and Sebastian’s differences, Elliott made a promise to always be there for Kurt.

But there’s something else. Not an acquiescence because that’s not in Elliott’s nature.

Kurt can’t put his finger on it, but whatever it is, he isn’t looking any gift horses in the mouth.

Kurt walks back to Sebastian’s Porsche and opens the passenger door. Sebastian hasn’t moved, but his eyes are open, staring at the ground beneath Kurt’s shoes. Kurt waits for any sign of acknowledgment, but not once does he look up at Kurt’s face.

 _That could be conditioning_ , Kurt reasons. _Or it could be Sebastian attempting to find subspace and escape to it._

Kurt can understand that. He can help him with that.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you inside.” Kurt gives Sebastian a hand, but Sebastian doesn’t rush to get out of the car. He seems content to sit where he is for the rest of the night. But he takes his Master’s hand and holds it as if it’s a buoy on the water in the midst of a terrible storm.

As if he’s going to drown without Kurt’s hand holding his.

Kurt is torn between the next thing he needs to do and letting go of Sebastian’s hand, but he has to. Because caring for a broken heart is as much in the details as it is the big displays. Kurt wants Sebastian to know that he hears him - he knows the things that are important to him, and nothing he cares about is inconsequential or silly. So he stands his sub off to the side and, without Sebastian asking, puts the cover on his car. He tucks every last gleaming inch of Sebastian’s Porsche beneath its protective shield and thinks, _God, I love this car_.

He may actually mean something more complicated than that, but it’s what he’s willing to admit to right now.

He leaves Sebastian’s things in his Navigator and leads his boy to the house. He unlocks the door and steps inside with Sebastian following solemnly at his heels. Sebastian obediently takes of his shoes, preparing to go to Kurt’s room and kneel in his spot, but Kurt stops him before he goes.

“Take a seat at the kitchen table,” he says, locking the front door. “There are a few things we have to do before you turn in.”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian says, the disappointment in his voice bred from not being allowed to serve. Kurt knows that Sebastian serving him the way they have designed would probably take his mind off of things, but Sebastian can’t hide from this. He can’t run away from it. He has to face it head on and put it behind him, or else it’ll just be waiting for him later on when he thinks he’s in the clear. The one thing that Kurt has always strived to be with Sebastian is honest, and Kurt knows for a fact that tackling problems and putting them to rest always ends better than burying your head in the sand, even if it’s for the sake of your sanity.

Kurt watches his sub walk, the way he moves when he sits at the table. He’s sluggish, his cocky swagger gone, as if the essence of who he was before has been sucked out of him. If Kurt had seen this boy in his club from behind, he wouldn’t know him from Adam.

He needs to fix this.

“Here.” Kurt puts a pad of writing paper on the table in front of him. “I know you probably don’t want to think about it, but I need you to write down everything that happened to you, every detail you remember. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how small. I’d let you do it later, but it’s best to do it while it’s fresh in your mind.”

“I understand, Master.”

“Then, we’ll take some photographs, and I’ll … I’ll put you to bed. I promise. No session for tonight. You need your sleep.”

“Yes, Master.” Sebastian doesn’t even try to smile. He takes the pen that Kurt left for him and starts writing while Kurt puts a kettle on the stove. As Kurt gets tea cups and saucers from the cabinet, he glances over at Sebastian writing furiously on the pad of paper. Kurt thought he’d need a grace period, a few seconds to get his thoughts together, but he hits the top sheet of paper with the point of the pen and doesn’t stop. Once or twice the pen trips over a word, but he crosses out and continues on. The pen trembles in his hand, but he doesn’t stop. He’s still writing when the whistle on the kettle blows. Kurt pours hot water into two cups, adding a drop of honey and a touch of milk to one, the way he knows Sebastian likes his best.

“Here.” Kurt puts the cup of tea down in front of his sub, assuming he’ll stop to take a sip, but he doesn’t. It’s as if he can’t. Now that the flood gates are open, he has to get it all out, put it down on paper so he doesn’t forget a minute of how it felt. Kurt sips his tea quietly, watching Sebastian flip the page and keep going. Sebastian’s tea cools, but he keeps writing. He wants to condemn those boys with these words – Thad and Jamie and all the rest. Especially Hunter. Fucking Hunter! He almost ruined _everything_!

Except no, he hadn’t. Because Hunter never had the power, just like Sebastian had said. Hunter can’t touch him. Not really. He can’t derail Sebastian’s life.

The worst thing that happened in that room - even worse than Sebastian being tied up, unable to breathe - was that Sebastian didn’t give Kurt enough credit.

He didn’t give what they have together the credit it deserves.

He gets to the part in his statement when Kurt showed up to save the day and that’s when his pen slows. He pauses to take a sip of his tea, his hand shaking the cup so much that it spills, but Kurt’s hand is there, steadying it so Sebastian can bring his lips to it and drink. It’s neither hot nor cold. It’s just right, the way everything feels now that he’s with Kurt. Sebastian empties half the cup, the liquid soothing his turbulent stomach, unwinding the cramps that had begun to twist as he recounted his time in that chair.

When he starts to yawn, Kurt helps him finish, then guides the cup down to its saucer.

“It looks like you might be crashing,” Kurt says, wrapping his fingers around Sebastian’s hand and holding it, lending him his strength.

“I think … I might be … Master,” Sebastian says through a barrage of stifled yawns.

“Let’s take those pictures before you fall asleep in your seat,” Kurt suggests. “Here.” He moves his sub away from the table, setting him up in a chair underneath the brightest light in the room. “Remove your shirt. We’re going to take a couple now, and a couple more in the morning when your bruises get a little bit darker.”

“I understand, Master,” is all Sebastian says, and Kurt sighs. He wishes Sebastian would just fucking unload, even if that means ugly crying, screaming and cursing.

 _Give him time_. _He just needs a little more time._   

Kurt takes out his iPhone as Sebastian removes his shirt. Kurt had seen some of Sebastian’s bruises when he’d helped his sub change. They weren’t too bad then – the angry red outlines of rope marks and clustered, purpling masses that could be finger prints. But given time to develop, they’ve become grisly. The ropes bit into Sebastian’s skin harder than he’d let on, or maybe his time with Kurt has desensitized him. Either way, indents mar his arms and legs, clearly enough so that anyone can tell what made them. Above those are definite finger marks. They vary in thickness, different hands having grabbed hold of Sebastian to keep him still. Kurt can tell that a few twisted as they held, indicating that Sebastian fought hard and they had to work to restrain him.

Well, good for fucking Sebastian!

But the one that pisses Kurt off the most is a solid round mark between Sebastian’s pecs where someone held him with both hands compressing his chest. Kurt is careful when he bruises his sub, each mark he makes placed for maximum impact with minimal permanent injury. And every one means something. It carries a message, either to Sebastian or somebody else. He’s never left marks like these on Sebastian’s body – senseless, meaningless, violent trash littering his sub’s gorgeous skin.

Kurt said it once, and he’ll say it again - someone’s going to pay for this.

Kurt focuses his iPhone camera on the bruise on Sebastian’s chest and snaps off a few pics. The way these look, he’s surprised that Sebastian doesn’t have any broken ribs or internal bleeding.

“You know,” Kurt says to break the silence that’s starting to drown him, “I’ve done so many of these that, after a while, it becomes old hat.”

“When was the first time, Master?” Sebastian asks to take his mind off what Kurt’s doing and why. He has a hunch it might have been Elliott, considering how close the two of them are, how protective of one another. But aside from confirming his suspicions, he’s just plain curious. There’s still so much about Kurt’s past that he doesn’t know.

“Well, to be honest, preppy …” Kurt takes a step forward and starts photographing the rope marks on Sebastian’s arms “… it was me. **After I left Blaine**.”

Sebastian, whose gaze had been trained on his hands this whole time, raises his eyes to look at Kurt, but Kurt shifts his gaze away. He comes closer, puts a hand to Sebastian’s chin, and takes a picture of the fabric burns around his mouth.

“I joined the scene for Blaine,” Kurt admits, tilting Sebastian’s head back further to take a picture of his neck. “I didn’t need it. I would have been more than happy without it, I’ll tell you what.” It’s such a determined statement, Sebastian knows Kurt had to have thought about it more than once, what his life would have been like if he’d avoided the scene. “Some guy at Dalton who had the hots for Blaine while we were dating introduced him to it, apparently behind my back via text messages and emails. He gave Blaine tips, and told him about places that catered to the BDSM scene in New York.” Kurt’s eyes meet Sebastian’s momentarily as Kurt moves Sebastian’s head the opposite way. Sebastian sees the regret in them, the sorrow. “He was grooming Blaine, you see, for the two of them to be together once we moved, but Blaine didn’t pick up on that. He could be a bit dense when it came to guys flirting with him. Blaine was so damned excited about it, and that excitement had been building within him without my knowledge. When he finally brought it up to me, and introduced me to his _friend_ , I agreed to give it a shot because I was sure that if I didn’t, I was going to lose him.” He laughs. It’s dry, bitter, and steeped with hate. But hatred for Blaine? Hatred for Blaine’s friend? Hatred for himself? Probably all three. “What did I know? The only stuff I knew about BDSM came from cheesy, second-rate pornos. Pornos _I_ didn’t even want to watch! I thought D/s was about handcuffs, spanking, whips, and gaudy, leather outfits. People calling other people _Sir_ and _Master_ …” Kurt shakes his head. “I didn’t take it seriously. It was a joke to me, the way it was for you.” He stops his picture taking to run his fingers through Sebastian’s hair, finding comfort for himself in the silky strands and the fluttering of Sebastian’s eyelids in response. “I didn’t know it could consume you,” he whispers. “I didn’t know how badly it could fuck with your head. I got all of my information from Blaine because I was too scared to look it up for myself. I didn’t want that shit on my Google search history.” He chuckles, returning to the photographs. “I wasn’t all that comfortable with sex, not the way Blaine was. And I was stupidly naïve. I trusted him too much. I mean, he loved me, right? Plus, he was a natural leader. He was charismatic. People gravitated toward him. I thought that those leadership skills would translate over. But that isn’t enough in our world. It’s not about _acting_ the part. It’s about _being_ it. Blaine isn’t a Dom. All Blaine is is an actor.” Kurt puts down his phone. He looks tired all of a sudden. Done. “Take off your pants, preppy. We need to get the rest of them.”

Sebastian doesn’t register the command right away, and when he does, he can’t move. He’s numb from the story that Kurt has told him so far, and since they have yet to get to the part when Kurt leaves Blaine and photographs the bruises on his body, Sebastian can only assume it gets worse. Admittedly, Sebastian entered the BDSM scene because of Kurt, but he did it of his own free will. Kurt never forced him, tricked him, or manipulated him. On the contrary. He gave Sebastian every opportunity to back out if he wanted. And Kurt bending over backwards to hold on to Blaine? Sebastian has seen pictures of both men during their time at Dalton; found them in old yearbooks in the Dalton Academy library. Even though Kurt has done a complete one-eighty as he’s gotten older, Sebastian can no more imagine him as insecure and vulnerable, scared of losing the man he loves and agreeing to this life, any more than he could picture himself traveling to Mars on a purple unicorn.

But here they are.

And if not for that, if not for _Blaine_ , Sebastian would have never met Kurt.

Sebastian doesn’t know if he should be pissed about that or grateful.

“We talked about it, but not enough. Not as much as we should have,” Kurt continues, helping Sebastian with the fly to his jeans when he doesn’t undo them. “We decided to start as switches, but it always seemed like me on my knees for him more than he ever was for me.” Kurt tugs down Sebastian’s waistband, and Sebastian lifts up to help him. “We kept it to ourselves, in the bedroom. I thought we were together on that. But he had other plans.” Kurt pulls Sebastian’s jeans to his ankles. He spots a particularly nasty bruise, and stops to take a picture. “Not only did Blaine want to be more public with that part of our relationship, he didn’t want to necessarily stay exclusive.” Kurt runs a gentle finger over the raised, purple mark, then leans forward and kisses it. The touch of Kurt’s lips to Sebastian’s leg startles him, but it’s an anesthetic for what Kurt says next. “He started sharing me without my permission, humiliating me in ways we’d never discussed. He ignored my safewords, trying to make himself look tough, powerful. The kind of Dominant he thought other Dominants would respect, especially since we were in New York.”

 **Kurt moves** to the other leg, not looking into Sebastian’s devastated face. “One night, I found myself doped up, in the middle of an orgy, and I had no idea how I got there.” Kurt pauses when he hears Sebastian catch his breath, taking longer than necessary fussing over his next pic. “One of Elliott’s partners at the time found me. He was a pay-for-play Dom and a gay-for-pay submissive, but he was cool. That’s how I met Elliott, which is funny considering we’d been going to the same college the whole time and had never once run into each other. Ells and his friend took care of me. I moved in with them that night, pretty much left everything I owned behind at mine and Blaine’s apartment. Never did get a lot of it back. They tried to get me to press charges, file a restraining order, but law enforcement doesn’t traditionally look too kindly on people of our deviation.” Kurt rests his head on Sebastian’s knee and looks off into nothing, watching the events scroll by in his mind. “And I was right. When I finally got up the nerve to go down there, the police twisted my words around. They said I wanted it, that I had consented because I was there in the first place, that I knew what I was getting into because I had ordered drinks, because I had taken off my own clothes ...” Sebastian feels what he swears is a tear roll down his skin as Kurt returns mentally from wherever. He pockets his phone and dabs at his eyes so slyly, Sebastian barely notices. “After that, I did a little online research about the legal system and how it pertained to me. It wasn’t all that helpful, to be honest, but I got the gist. I had Elliott take pictures of what was left of my bruises from that night, and I kept them, just in case.” Kurt pulls Sebastian’s jeans the rest of the way off his legs so his sub can walk. “I dropped out of school and I quit my job because those were two places I knew Blaine could find me, but I couldn’t avoid him forever. I needed to put some distance between me and him, and Ells said he needed a change of pace, so the two of us packed up, moved back to Ohio, and opened our club. I didn’t know what I wanted at the time, but I knew I needed to take back control of my life, so I became a professional Dominant. We made our club into the dungeon of our dreams, and found people from all over who weren’t just good people, but responsible Dominants and submissives - supportive, mentoring, knowledgeable, all of the things that I could have used back in New York with Blaine. I was determined that I wasn’t going to let another person end up like me. The more people I met in the scene, the more I came across people like me – people who had gone in wide-eyed and ignorant, usually for someone they loved, and ended up on the bad end of an ego trip. Without knowing it, we started catering to not only the kinky subset of Ohio, but to a large group of abused submissives. We became sort of a safe-house. The people who come to our club have been coming there for years. It’s like a second home … to all of us.”

Kurt helps Sebastian to his feet, but when Kurt tries to get him to walk, he’s unable to take that first step. Kurt turns to look at him, gets a good look at his face.

Sebastian looks positively heartbroken - his eyes red, his cheeks wet with tears, his chin quivering but his jaw locked, as if he’s been holding back the inevitable.

“Oh, Sebastian. I take it my story didn’t make you feel better.”

Sebastian snuffles in unattractively, but he’s stopped caring how he looks. He’s naked, physically and emotionally. He’s never felt so naked in front of anyone, especially not in front of Kurt, with these new, foreign bruises on display. He hates them. He hates that he has them. Kurt’s bruises are a work of art to Sebastian. A badge of honor. When he has them, they fill him with a feeling of strength and belonging. These bruises he has now are disgusting. They make him feel like an outcast. But mostly, they’re embarrassing.

They make him feel violated and weak.

They make him feel worthless.

“W-was it supposed to, Master?”

“Yes. But maybe not the way you think.”

“Then h-how?”

Kurt’s arms circle Sebastian’s waist. He rests his head on Sebastian’s chest, on that circular black-and-blue that he loathes so much. And there Kurt is - there _Sebastian’s Dom_ is - covering those marks with his body, filling in the cracks and crevices, and making Sebastian feel complete again.

“It’s supposed to make you feel a little less alone. There’s a lot of us out there, baby. A lot of people who were dicked over by someone they trusted. If you ever think you have no one in the world you can turn to, just remember, _Pavarotti’s Prison_ is your home now, too.”

And that’s one more hole filled. A _huge_ one. When Sebastian left Dalton with Kurt and Elliott, he’d felt cheated, the way Kurt said he had back when he was in high school. That place Sebastian felt was his second home was a lie, and losing it threatened to destroy him. But he’d already had another home, even if he didn’t realize it. It was Kurt’s club.

It was _Kurt_.

That’s when Sebastian finally lets go and the tears begin to fall.

Kurt leads Sebastian down the hallway towards his bedroom, bringing the pad of paper and pen with them in case Sebastian remembers something later on that he wants to add. He drops both on his bedside table and, with his heart in his throat, starts the task of freeing Sebastian from tonight.

It’s not that Sebastian hasn’t spent days on end at Kurt’s place before, but for the first time, Kurt is taking care of not just his needs as a submissive. His deeply emotional ones, too. This is something that should annoy the shit out of Kurt. He’s not a big fan of people relying on him for emotional stability.

So why does this excite him so much?

Kurt starts with a shower, turning the water to hot, then stripping down in front of Sebastian with his sub’s eyes on him. Kurt demanded it, to root Sebastian in the here and now so that, should he find his way to subspace, he’ll remember he’s with Kurt and that he’s safe, that the person touching his body and commanding his mind is Kurt, and not those sick motherfuckers from his school.

And while they shower, Kurt gives Sebastian permission to kiss, permission to touch, permission to cry, which he does out of anger and frustration. With other submissives, this would be the time for Kurt to exercise strict control, but that’s not what Sebastian needs. He’s still a teenager, and sometimes he needs that young, carefree, puppy-dog type of affection.

So Dom and sub put everything else on hold while Kurt lets Sebastian kiss him; lets Sebastian push him up against the wall and pin him there, hands roaming freely up and down his body; while he lets Sebastian mark him with hickeys on his neck and shoulders, one bite hard enough to draw blood, and Kurt, with his eyes rolled back in his head, cums. Kurt returns the favor by sinking to his knees and blowing him, letting Sebastian cum down his throat, fill him with his pain. And like that evening in December when Sebastian dropped, Kurt washes him with his own body wash, dries him off and slathers him with his signature lotions, marking him with his scent along with his kisses and his teeth.

More than anything, Kurt wants to cover those bruises with new ones, blot out the petty hate with his own brand of caring and ownership. And he knows Sebastian wants it, too. But he can’t. Not yet. Not until these have been completely documented, and that will happen in the morning.

Kurt will start early so that they can get to work obliterating them – possibly for the entire day.

Kurt puts Sebastian to bed unbound and tucks him in. They don’t speak. There’s nothing left to say. So they kiss instead, Sebastian wrapping his arms around Kurt’s body and taking while he can with Kurt lying back and enjoying it because, hey – Sebastian’s an _awesome_ kisser. But there comes a point when those kisses become sloppy and soft, with Sebastian sinking more into the mattress than he does into Kurt until eventually his lips stop moving altogether and he begins to snore.

Kurt holds his sub while Sebastian drifts off to sleep, kissing his forehead and his damp hair. Kurt tries to sleep, too, wound around Sebastian, so comfortable with his sub in his arms, so warm sharing his body heat. But he can’t. He’s riled up, his instinct not to reach for unconsciousness, which is only a shut eye away, but to get out of bed, drive back to Dalton, and start wailing on whomever he can find. It would serve those bastards right to wake up in the morning, tied to their beds with their dicks wrapped in razor wire, the words, “Hands off my fucking property until the end of time! Signed KH” carved into their chests.

Legally, however, that could prove problematic.

He does everything he can to put a kibosh on the vindictive thoughts popping up in his head and black out the way Sebastian has, but he can actually hear the gears whirring in his brain as he subconsciously contemplates a plan of revenge. He decides to try blocking it out with music, or maybe some ocean sounds – meditative shit that Elliott turned him on to shortly after his father’s last heart attack. Kurt peeks over at his bedside table, but the only thing he spots is Sebastian’s statement, resting haphazardly on top of everything, where Kurt left it.

Kurt stares at it, undecided as to what he wants to do about it. He wants to read it, but on the other hand, he doesn’t want to read it. He _should_ read it so he knows how to proceed tomorrow when they drop by the police station. Kurt doesn’t know the whole story, and he doesn’t want to be caught off guard.

But he also wants to be able to sleep peacefully tonight.

Seeing as he can’t find his iPod, he left his phone in the bathroom in the pocket of his pants, and he doesn’t want to leave his bed (or Sebastian) to find a magazine to read, he reaches over and behind, slowly so as not to wake up his sub, and grabs the pad of paper.

The first few words leap immediately off the page and slap Kurt in the face, Sebastian’s handwriting surprisingly neat considering the condition he was in when he wrote this.

Kurt sighs. There’s going to be no easing into this one.

He tries to read it from top to bottom, step away from it, remove emotion from it and ingest the information like he would the news (though, to be honest, he stopped reading the news a while ago for similar reasons). But he can’t. After the first paragraph detailing how Hunter had baited him, giving the other boys time to jump him; how he felt trapped, couldn’t breathe; how he thought he had lost something important to him; Kurt has to put it down. He’s so fucking angry, and if he can’t go to Dalton and break a few kneecaps, he might explode.

He needs some sort of release, something to work out his aggression. He searches his room, goes over his options. He could smoke, mellow the fuck out, but he doesn’t want to disturb Sebastian. He could masturbate, but, that again, might wake his sub up, and besides, it would be a pity to go at it solo when there’s a gorgeous man lying beside him in bed.

Kurt peruses the contents of his bedside table, the removal of the pad of paper revealing the contents underneath – lotions, lubes, and cuffs, his lighter, a bong, his last bag of weed, an empty beer bottle, a razor blade ...

Kurt stops on the blade. It’s a fresh one, the sharp edge wrapped in cardboard. It’s been waiting there for Kurt’s next session with Sebastian, but he could turn it on himself, indulge in self-pity and slice up his legs, tear up his chest. It would help him relax, feel in control – a feeling he’d lost somewhere in between getting Jeff’s text and finding Sebastian tied up. Of course, that’s a feeling he could regain with his sub cuffed to his bed, a gag in his mouth, and a hook up his ass, but Kurt can’t wake Sebastian for that. The only option he has is to damage himself – either by doing this, or going down to the club, finding a willing slave, and whipping them for all they’re worth.

But he can’t do that either. He made a promise. Sebastian is his one and only for as long as they’re together. Kurt said so himself.

He can’t call on anyone else. Not even Elliott.

Kurt isn’t going to cheat.

 _God_! Kurt rolls his head on his neck. _Cheat_! As if they’re an _item_! As if they’re a _thing_!

Kurt lets out a sigh in retaliation of himself. He’s so fucking pathetic. He has to stop fighting against it and man up, stop playing as if Sebastian doesn’t matter as much as he does. He has to come to terms with the fact that that’s what they are. And Kurt has himself to blame more than anyone. He’s the man in charge. He’s the one who let it get this far.

And worst of all, he has no regrets.

Sebastian begins to whimper, and all of Kurt’s thoughts go to him. He turns his back on the blade and wraps his arms around Sebastian again. The second he does, Sebastian stops, and Kurt knows he can’t let go of him – not tonight.

“It’s all right, preppy,” Kurt says into his hair. “It’s going to be all right, I promise … Sebastian.”

Pulling him close, Kurt closes his eyes, and falls asleep.


	33. A Dalton Boy Getting Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karma's a bitch, and so is Kurt, which Hunter is about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows about a week after "A Dalton Boy Heartbroken". There are some non-sexual non-con elements in here, but I think we can all agree that Hunter deserves what he gets. Let me know what you think ;)

_To: Sebastian_

_Hey. Do you have time to talk?_

Sebastian sees the text and smiles. Good old Jeff. Sebastian misses him. Even though they weren’t in the habit of talking every day, Sebastian still considered them friends. It was nice having someone around Dalton who didn’t want or expect anything from him. He’d see Jeff at Warbler practice, they’d shoot the shit, and that was pretty much it. People always give so much weight to the so-called deeply emotional relationships in their lives, but the casual ones can be just as important.

Having Jeff around to talk nonsense with when lacrosse practice sucked or finals got rough helped keep Sebastian sane.

Sebastian is in the middle of doing his homework at the kitchen table, and, per Kurt’s rules, he’s not allowed to take any calls unless they’re from his parents. _They’re_ the exception. But Kurt does realize other people may need to get a hold of Sebastian from time to time, especially since he’s part of two group projects even though he’s not physically on campus. So texts are alright, as long as they don’t take up too much of his time.

Kurt and Sebastian have both been on the edge of their seats waiting for news about “The Dalton Purge” (as they call it). Hence Kurt’s leniency.

Sebastian hopes that Jeff has some good news for him.

_To: Jeff_

_Hey man! Long time, no hear from!_

_To: Sebastian_

_Not my fault. You’re the one doing a week of IEP over at your man’s house :P_

Sebastian chuckles, but his eyes stick on the words _your man_. Reading them should make him hard (they usually do), but they make his heart flutter instead.

_To: Jeff_

_Yeah, well, after I filed that police report, the cops decided it would be best for everyone involved if I hung back while they investigated. Doesn’t matter. Kurt wouldn’t let me come back if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Not right now. I don’t really feel like hanging around Dalton. At this point, if I could do IEP up until graduation, I probably would._

_To: Sebastian_

_I heard that. I don’t blame you. How’s it going otherwise?_

_To: Jeff_

_Fine. Getting a lot more studying done here than I do on campus._

_To: Sebastian_

_Really?_

_To: Jeff_

_Yeah, really. Why?_

_To: Sebastian_

_Would I be a dick if I said I was surprised?_

_To: Jeff_

_Not at all xD You guys don’t know what my life is like over here. I think it would open your eyes if you knew … but I’m not telling :P_

_To: Sebastian_

_It’s all good. It’s nice to have something for you and you alone. I dig that._

Sebastian smirks. If that were the case, and those assholes at Dalton would let him keep his fucking private life _private_ , then he wouldn’t be in this situation.

_To: Jeff_

_So, what’s up? It sounded like you had something important you wanted to discuss._

_To: Sebastian_

_It’s about the guys. The ones who jumped you that night?_

_To: Jeff_

_Yeah …?_

_To: Sebastian_

_They gathered up most of the boys. Half of varsity lacrosse has been suspended. I don’t know what they’re going to do about the team. There’s talk about moving some of the better JV players up, but some of them were in on it, too._

_To: Jeff_

_Yeah. I figured that._

Sebastian remembers the conversation the two boys keeping watch over him had, how Hunter had promised them spots on the team. Seems like that didn’t turn out very well for them after all.

_To: Sebastian_

_They may decide to flush the rest of the Varsity season. Sorry about that, man._

_To: Jeff_

_That’s savage. But if they do, no big loss. I was getting kind of tired of all the dumb team politics anyway. And if they can the team, at least Hunter will get what’s coming to him._

There’s a long pause after Sebastian sends that message. He goes back to his math homework while he waits, figuring that Jeff is sending him a long ass text in reply, detailing how Hunter got expelled, how his father showed up, ranting and raving about suing the school but it did no good, and now he’s not only out of Dalton for good, but on his way to juvie for orchestrating an assault.

 _Or_ there’s something Jeff isn’t looking forward to telling him.

Sebastian is hoping for the former, but he’s betting on the latter.

_To: Sebastian_

_About that …_

_To: Sebastian_

_Nobody’ll turn on him, man._

Sebastian reads that and sighs. He’d suspected that. This can’t be just a _hate against him_ thing. He doesn’t doubt that a few guys might resent him, but _that many_ of them? No. There has to be something more to it. Hunter is a master manipulator. He always has an angle. Sebastian can’t even fathom what Hunter could be holding over everybody that they would choose expulsion over going turncoat. But he had hoped that someone would step up and do the right thing, regardless of the consequences from Hunter.

He guesses that’s a difficult thing to expect from teenagers, seeing as expulsion, or even suspension, from a school like Dalton might negatively impact the rest of their lives. Not everyone can be as _Who gives a fuck?_ about the future as Sebastian. Sebastian’s parents are cool about his life choices for the most part, and they’ve assured him that his trust fund is his, even if he follows a path they don’t agree with.

Not every kid Sebastian knows has that security.

_To: Jeff_

_What about you? What did you tell them?_

_To: Sebastian_

_I told them everything. I swear. And even though the assistant dean says he believes me, it’s me against everyone else. And everyone is giving Hunter an alibi. Even with my school record being clean and all, they say they can’t take just my word for it. If you ask me, his father had something to do with that. I’m afraid nothing’s going to happen to Hunter. I’m so sorry._

_To: Jeff_

_It’s not your fault. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I owe you one._

_To: Sebastian_

_Don’t sweat it. I wish I could have done more. Take care of yourself._

_To: Jeff_

_You, too._

“What’s going on, baby? Googling the answers to your homework is cheating, you know.” Kurt slides up behind his sub and lays a hand on his shoulder. His hold isn’t commanding. It’s more familiar. Kurt’s been doing that a lot lately, touching Sebastian whenever he comes within range of him and for the hell of it – rubbing his back, massaging his shoulders, running a hand through his hair, without demanding anything in return.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Sebastian says with a disappointed swallow. “I’m just … talking to Jeff.”

“What about?” Kurt asks, his voice rising with excitement. “You look like you’re about to set your phone on fire.”

Sebastian doesn’t answer. He hands Kurt the phone and shows him the conversation he’s been having. Kurt scrolls back and forth, re-reading certain passages twice. His brow pinches. His jaw snaps shut. His eyes burn.

“Fuck!” he snaps, smacking the phone down on Sebastian’s text book. “Fuck it all!” He looks at his sub, at Sebastian’s downcast eyes, at the shame on his face, the same expression he wore on the drive home from Dalton, as if any of this were his fault. Kurt hates seeing Sebastian this way. There shouldn’t be a single power in the world that can beat down his warrior prince … besides him. “Don’t you worry, baby,” Kurt says, running a hand through Sebastian’s hair, lightly scraping his scalp with his nails. “He won’t get away with this. He’ll get his, one way or another, if I have anything to say about it.”

***

Sebastian has been trying to get his assignment done since his conversation with Jeff, but he’s having no luck. Not because the kitchen, where he has his books laid out on that deceptively average table of Kurt’s, isn’t quiet enough or well-lit enough for him to study. Kurt made certain to set the room up the way Sebastian needed it. Even said conversation hasn’t put him off studying per se. It’s the fact that Kurt is getting ready to go out that has Sebastian distracted. He hasn’t outright said that he’s leaving, but ever since he read those messages, he’s been busy preparing. He made half a dozen phone calls, and when that was done, he started opening drawers in his dresser and rummaging through his closet, the sound of hangers being pulled out and tossed to the bed audible from the kitchen.

And Sebastian isn’t going with him.

By the time Kurt comes out of his room, he’s dressed in head to toe leather – studded dog collar, spiked jacket, driving gloves, motorcycle boots. Even his pants are made of leather – soft and skin tight. He struts into the kitchen, dressed to kill, and sexy enough to devour.

He shoves his phone in his pocket, pats another one for his keys, then takes a seat at the table beside his sub.

“Wh-where are you going, Master?” Sebastian asks, jumping in before he should. Kurt smiles instead of scolding him. He doesn’t want to leave Sebastian alone any more than Sebastian wants to be alone. But if things go smoothly, he should only be gone for a couple of hours, tops.

“Don’t worry, preppy,” he says, pressing a kiss to his sub’s forehead. “I won’t be long. And I called a friend to stop by and keep an eye on you.”

“Elliott?” Sebastian asks. Kurt snickers at the grimace his sub can’t hide, even now when the two of them are beginning to understand one another. Still, being left in Elliott’s care for a few hours probably isn’t an arrangement that Sebastian is looking forward to.

“Nope. Elliott’s coming with me. I called Marley. She’s bringing her boy Jake over. You met them at the Christmas party. She took a real liking to you. I know she’ll take good care of you while I’m gone. And don’t worry. She’s not going to ask anything of you. She’s just going to make sure you get your homework done.”

Sebastian nods. “Are … are you …?”

“I’m not going to the club without you, sweetheart,” Kurt says. “I wouldn’t do that. You’re mine, remember? My one and only?” Kurt puts a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, over his brand, and squeezes gently. “Now, you hang tight and do your Calculus homework like a good little boy, and if it’s all done by the time I get home, I’ll give you something special.” Kurt smiles at the way Sebastian’s eyebrow quirks. This is a new scene for them, bordering on the caregiver/little (or, in Sebastian’s case, _middle_ ) dynamic that Kurt loathes so much, and Kurt can tell Sebastian’s excited to see what his Master has in store. Kurt would do anything to stay home and play with him, but there’s something he has to do first or he won’t be able to sleep at night. He leans forward and kisses Sebastian on the lips sweetly, to keep him relaxed until he gets home. But Sebastian is far from relaxed. He has a feeling he knows what Kurt is planning on doing, and Sebastian doesn’t want to question his choices. He also doesn’t want to see Kurt get hurt … or arrested.

But he has to have faith. He lost faith in Kurt once. Sebastian swore to himself he wouldn’t do that again.

“Just, please … don’t be too long, Master?”

Sebastian feels Kurt smile against his mouth. “I won’t be, baby. I promise. Daddy’s gonna go take care of some business.”

***

Hunter stares up at his dorm room ceiling while he lies in bed, listening to his meditation playlist and trying to get to sleep. He thought he’d sleep better. His plan didn’t go off the way he’d anticipated, but he can’t be too mad at the results. Sure the lacrosse team is pretty much trashed, as are The Warblers, and a few other clubs on campus are going to get through the end of the year with less than stellar membership, but that barely matters to Hunter.

 _He_ came out of this spotless.

Plus, Sebastian is off campus for the week. It’s nice to have a vacation from the self-righteous bastard. Even if he is spending the week fucking that freak of his, he’ll forever know that he’s not as bulletproof as he thinks he is.

Unlike Hunter. Hunter got off with a warning because he truly is the untouchable.

His eyelids drift shut and he smiles.

 _The untouchable_ , he repeats to himself. That makes him sound like a superhero. Or a super _villain_. Even better. They get better costumes and gadgets anyway. And villains always end up with more respect at the end. He should consider printing that on business cards. He’ll keep it low and pro. His name, his email, his cell phone number, and in quotations at the bottom of the card – _The Untouchable_.

Hunter chuckles.

_The Untouchable_

It fits him to a T.

The song he’s currently listening to, _Meditations on a Drop of Summer Rain_ , segues into the next - a new age version of Pachelbel’s Canon in D - when a hand covered in leather drops over his mouth and clamps down tight. Hunter’s eyes shoot open, but instead of the white ceiling above his head, he’s staring into two sets of sinister blue eyes, one icier than the other. But the eyes that aren’t icy boil like liquid steel, brimming with hatred. Regardless of their differences, both sets of eyes glare down at him murderously, and Hunter knows exactly who they belong to.

“Hello, friend,” Kurt says, squeezing tighter around Hunter’s mouth. Elliott climbs over Hunter’s body, pinning him to the bed. “We wanted to have a little talk with you.” Kurt lets go, his hand hovering close in case the boy decides to scream.

Hunter sucks in the air that left his body at the shock of these two men invading his room. “I’m not your _friend_!”

“You’re right,” Kurt says, “but you see, the things I _want_ to call you might open a door to repressed anger that’s going to cause me to rip your genitals off. So why don’t we stick with _friend_ for now?”

Hunter huffs. “And why don’t you …?”

Kurt slaps his hand back over Hunter’s mouth and rolls his eyes.

“Well, _that_ was a mistake.”

“Clearly,” Elliott agrees.

“Can you shut him up for me? I’m gonna need my hand back.”

“Gladly.” Elliott reaches into his jacket pocket and holds up a pair of white-ish briefs. Both Kurt and Hunter look at Elliott with curious - and disgusted - faces.

“I thought you brought a ball gag with you.”

“I did. But I don’t want to get douche-canoe’s saliva on it, so I decided to improvise.”

“Where did you get those?”

Elliott shrugs. “Picked them up at the club a few days ago. They’ve been in my pocket ever since.”

“Gross!” Kurt laughs.

“Let’s hope they’re clean, huh?”

“Doubt it. Open wide, Hunty.” Kurt takes his hand away from Hunter’s mouth, but Hunter locks his lips together between his teeth, shaking his head from side to side. Kurt grabs Hunter’s nose and holds it closed.

Then they wait.

Elliott looks at Kurt.

Kurt looks at Hunter.

Hunter looks at both of them, cheeks turning red but determined to keep his mouth shut. Kurt gives Elliott a nod and Elliott drops his weight onto Hunter’s stomach. Hunter’s mouth flies open as the air is forced from his body, and Elliott shoves the underwear in. Kurt finishes Hunter off with his Dalton necktie, which he grabbed from Hunter’s desk, tying it over his mouth like a gag.

“How does that feel, huh?” Kurt asks, tying the knot at the back of Hunter’s head tighter than necessary. “Not too nice, does it? Now you know how my baby felt when you guys did that to him.”

Hunter stops struggling. He looks at Kurt, his attention pulled when Kurt calls Sebastian his _baby_ , and has the audacity to laugh. Elliott jumps on Hunter’s stomach one more time to shut him up.

“Keep it up,” Elliott hisses. “I can do that _all night_.”

Hunter, still defiant, quiets down, not looking forward to spending tomorrow nursing cramps that would make passing gall stones feel like a day in the park.

“Alrighty then. Let’s strip this pig, tie his ass up, and get down to work. Oops. I forgot one thing.” Kurt yanks the pillow out from underneath Hunter’s head, pulling fast so that Hunter’s head falls to the mattress. He shakes the pillow free of its case and shoves the case over Hunter’s head. Then he ties it at the neck, cutting short Hunter’s air supply. Hunter gasps for breath, and Kurt grins. He doesn’t want Hunter to pass out. That would defeat the purpose of this exercise.

But that’s not to say Kurt wouldn’t find it extremely satisfying.

“There we go,” Kurt growls, slapping the boy’s cheek. “ _Perfect_.”

***

_Flash._

“Yes …”

_Flash-flash._

“Excellent!”

_Flash._

“Face more forward. Now, give me more pout.”

_Flash-flash-flash._

“Come on, dude! I want to see more assholery. I know you’ve got it in you! Try thinking _Do you know who my father is?_ There it is! Perfect!”

_Flash._

Hunter squints against the lights dancing in front of his eyes – bright and white and firing non-stop. Considering what they’re doing, Kurt and his _friend_ have chosen a spot that’s rather exposed and extremely well lit. And although Hunter is determined to maintain his cool, knowing that in this situation, in the end, he has the advantage, he can’t help but be a might bit worried that Kurt doesn’t seem at all concerned about getting caught.

“Do you know what this needs, Elliott?” Kurt asks, framing his shot and taking another picture.

“What?” Elliott asks, repositioning Hunter’s chair - which they’d swiped from his room, and Kurt carried while Elliott slung Hunter’s bound body over his shoulder - when Kurt motions for him to turn it more toward the stadium lights.

“A starburst filter.”

“Hmm. I agree. To add a hint of color to his pasty skin.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Kurt snaps off another three shots. “But, you know, if I did that, we might not see his face …” Kurt turns back to their prisoner, all illusion of humor gone “… and we _absolutely_ want his face in these pictures.”

“What do you freaks think you’re doing?” Hunter screams, pulling at the rope tying him to the chair. It can’t be regular rope. It has some kind of razor quality to it. When he struggles, it cuts into his skin, and when he shifts left and right, it stings like no one’s business.

“Oh, it’s not what _we’re_ doing …” Kurt raises a foot and plants it between Hunter’s legs, pressing down on his flaccid cock to keep him quiet. Hunter seems to have a horrible case of _unnecessarius rambling mouth-icus_ , and that needs to stop. Of course, crushing his dick like a pancake could be fun, too. Kurt considers it while he lights a clove, acting more nonchalant than he feels, the blood beneath his calm exterior bubbling to do some real damage to this sonofabitch. He sucks in a breath and shakes out his match, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. “It’s what _you’re_ going to do.”

Hunter laughs, but shelves it when Kurt’s foot presses down.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” he asks, trying to keep them talking. The longer they sit out there, the better chance he has of someone wandering by and helping him. It doesn’t matter _what_ Kurt means. Hunter has no intention of rolling over. He’s no bitch, not like Sebastian, but he’s not a big fan of pain, either. And after seeing that heinous burn thing on Sebastian’s shoulder that this man gave him, Hunter is definitely more than a little wary about his current predicament.

Kurt replaces his foot with his knee, balancing ever so carefully, and Hunter gulps. Kurt gets up in Hunter’s face and blows smoke in his eyes, smiling as they start to water.

“You prep school punks, I see you all the Goddamned fucking time. Fuck, I used to _be_ one of you. Though, to be honest, I may have gone to the school and worn the uniform, but I was never really a _Dalton boy_. But you little fucks come down to my spot, you make fun of my customers, you think my life is such a joke.” Kurt takes another drag and blows another mouthful of smoke into Hunter’s eyes, which are becoming drier than the Sonoran Desert. “You think you’re so untouchable because you have more money than a small country.” Another drag, another mouthful of smoke in Hunter’s eyes, which he’s having trouble keeping open. “Now, I don’t have any of that, but I still managed to get _your_ punk ass naked and tied up, and I took some _real_ pretty pictures that I can use however I please.”

Hunter blinks his burning eyes, determined to look Kurt in the face when he cuts him down. “You’re not going to do _anything_ with those.”

“And why not?” Kurt pouts. “Because you have _friends_? Rich friends? _Influential_ friends?”

“You have _no idea_ who you’re dealing with!”

“You know” – Kurt smirks – “I might say the same thing to you.”

“One phone call and I can have you locked up, and that circus you call a night club shut down.” Hunter smiles smugly, even as a chill from the wet grass under his feet ripples up his back, and Kurt’s knee starts to descend.

“Oh, really?” Kurt says in a mock trembling voice. He looks back at Elliott, who’s doing his best to look appropriately scared.

“You really don’t think I’m not going to tell everyone about this when you untie me?”

“FYI, we don’t _have_ to untie you,” Elliott mentions as he flips through the pictures he took with his phone.

“Assault, kidnapping, blackmail …” Hunter continues with a condescending tut. “I got a slap on the wrist for hazing, but you guys, _you’re_ going to go to prison for a long time. Though I think that’s a step up from what you guys do now. You’ll probably make some _really_ good friends in jail.”

“Ooo!” Elliott chuckles. “Them there’s fightin’ words, Kurt. What do you have to say to that?”

“I say _nah_.” Kurt leans in close to Hunter’s ear, the urge to pull a Mike Tyson way too strong. “You wanna know a secret? I _do_ have friends. The kinds of friends you don’t meet going to schools like this. The kind you meet doing things you would never dream of doing, but they have smarts. They have power. You’d be surprised exactly _who_ my friends are. Lawyers, senators, congressmen, people who can make certain complaints disappear. Now you - well, not you, but your rich daddy - might have many of the same friends, so you might think you have the upper hand. The only difference is that when it comes to me, those friends we share would rather not let other people know that they associate with me. So they pretty much do whatever I ask them to to make sure no one ever finds out.”

Hunter looks at Kurt, at the viperish grin on his face as he sticks his cigarette back between his lips, the lit tip dangerously close to Hunter’s eye.

Hunter seethes. He’s trapped and he knows it. “What do you want?”

“You see” - Kurt slaps Hunter’s shoulder, driving those ropes into his arm. When he talks, it’s with the cigarette clenched between his teeth, the tip bouncing, spreading ash over Hunter’s bare skin. “I _knew_ you were a smart kid. I knew you’d see reason. What I want, douchebag, is simple …” A dozen things go through Kurt’s head as he pauses - all the things he wants to do to teach this asshole a lesson. How Dalton Academy managed to breed another bastard worse than Blaine Anderson, Kurt will never know, but he really had to start reconsidering the amount of his annual donation “… keep your hands off my property. I find out that you laid a single other hand on his head, that you looked at him the wrong way, that you sneezed within a three mile radius of him and he caught your cold, and these pictures I took don’t just go viral. They go _universal_. Motherfucking _galactic_. We _freaks_ , as you love to call us, have a _huge_ presence on social media. If I release these, everyone from Peter Nobody down at the 7-11 to astronauts on the ISS will see them, share them, caption them. They’ll call you a sissy, a fag, a fuckboy, a cock pit, everything and anything under the sun, and that shit doesn’t go away. You could drop a billion dollars on the best IT guys in the business to wipe it out, every inch of it, file injunctions against everyone who’s ever reblogged it, but all you’ll need is one person who had it downloaded to their computer to rehash it on Tumblr, and the cycle starts all over again. So unless you want your future business partners to Google your name and come up with a picture of you tied to a chair with your dick hanging out and the caption _Daddy’s little pussy, waiting to be fucked_ , I’d back the hell off – off of me, off of my club, but most of all, and this is a _big_ most of all so pay the fuck attention, off of _my_ Sebastian. Savvy?”

Hunter glares at Kurt, furious, but also with a healthy amount of apprehension. He has no doubt that Kurt means what he says, that he’ll make Hunter a household name in the worst way possible if he doesn’t comply. He may even have a way of making sure it doesn’t get back to him when he does. For the moment, Hunter can’t think of a way around that. One thing’s for certain – Kurt Hummel isn’t the man Hunter thought he was when he started this mission to get back at Sebastian.

That doesn’t impress him. It’s just frustrating as shit.

“I’m waiting for an answer, shit stain,” Kurt hisses. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah,” Hunter says. He figures he should say whatever he has to to get himself out of this mess, and then sort out the particulars later on. “I’m _savvy_.”

Kurt nods, but he doesn’t let it end there, staring uncomfortably long into Hunter’s eyes until the boy’s superior expression drops and he genuinely looks scared. Because Kurt is right. He and his friend managed to break into Dalton, tie Hunter up, and drag him out into the middle of a field. They invaded a space he thought was safe and pulled him out of it … and no one stopped them. If what happened the night Kurt picked Sebastian up is anything to go by, Hunter knows that Kurt has a member of the police department on his side. Who else does he have? He claims to be a Dalton alum. That’s a powerful group to be a part of – lawyers, senators, judges … is that who Kurt meant when he said he has _friends_? He has to be joking! There’s no way …

… but what if he’s not?

Is that a gamble that Hunter is willing to take?

Hunter swallows hard, pulling his lips tight when he realizes that Kurt may have the upper hand after all. And judging by the look on Kurt’s face, he’s not going to let this go. He’s not going to drop his guard. He’s going to remember Hunter and what Hunter did to Sebastian for a long time. And even if they settle up here, it may only be temporary.

Kurt will get him back when he least expects it.

“Great!” Kurt says, snapping back without warning. He stands up, freeing Hunter’s dick, but Hunter doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief. He can’t, knowing that this goon might dog his footsteps for the rest of his life. “Well, I’ve gotta jet. I’ve got my beautiful boy to get back to. You have a nice rest of the evening now, ya hear?” Kurt kicks Hunter’s chair as he leaves, but Elliott grabs the back and tips it, letting it fall backward into the grass.

“What the …? Hey!” Hunter yells. For an anxiety-fueled second, he feared the change in position would make the ropes tighten and tear him to shreds. They don’t. But they are an effective deterrent in keeping him from attempting to squirm free.

“Oops,” Elliott says.

“Wait a minute! Aren’t you guys going to untie me?”

“Relax, douchewad,” Kurt calls over his shoulder as he heads through the grass. “We’ll send one of your little boyfriends to come get you.”

“Yeah,” Elliott chimes in, “eventually. If you don’t freeze out here or some wild animal doesn’t eat you, you should live to be a pus nugget another day.”

“Hey!” Hunter screams. “Hey, assholes! Get back here and untie me! Hey! _Hey_! _HEY_!”

Hunter’s impotent screams follow Kurt and Elliott as they tromp away up an incline towards the parking lot and Kurt’s Navigator. They’re parked in the farthest lot outside of the least used field on the Dalton campus, reserved for marching band practice and JROTC. Hunter can scream all he wants. The likelihood that anyone’s going to hear him is next to nil.

“Thanks for doing that with me,” Kurt says, bumping Elliott with his shoulder.

“No problem. It’s nice to get away from the club every once in a while. And you know I’m always up for scaring children.” Elliott takes a deep, cleansing breath, and lets it go, waxing nostalgic. “It feels like old times.”

Kurt side-eyes his friend. “Ells, we were literally here scaring children last week.”

“Yes, we were,” Elliott says proudly. “And I have to say, I’m enjoying this trend.”

 

 


	34. A Dalton Boy Lit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after Kurt's Christmas party, he's moaning the fact that he didn't get to defile his beautiful tree.
> 
> But that's easily fixed.

On his hands and knees, head bowed in compliance, Sebastian tries not to stare as Kurt wraps a string of Christmas lights around his body starting from the ankle of his right foot, up his leg, around his waist and torso, traveling back down his left leg, where he plugs the male end into a nearby extension cord. Sebastian is familiar with this string of lights. They’re the same sharp bulbs attached to green wire that Sebastian wore when he served as Kurt’s Christmas tree days before. Thinking about that night makes his body sickly cold, all the way down to his toes. It wasn’t being Kurt’s Christmas tree, as exhausting as that was, that was the most difficult for him, but being tortured by Elliott. Fucking _Elliott_. And even then, the hand crushing a cage of spikes around his cock didn’t hurt most, regardless of the fact that it bled.

It was being told that he was _replaceable_. Being reminded that, eventually, he would leave, and Elliott would have Kurt to himself.

That he would _put Kurt’s pieces back together_.

But, if he’s being the tiniest bit petty, Sebastian is here with his Master, _alone_ , naked and preparing for domination …

… and Elliott isn’t.

That’s a victory as far as Sebastian is concerned.

The clips return to his nipples, but they’ve changed. Instead of light, feathery partridges, these clips have sparkly red Christmas balls dangling from them … and they’re _weighted_. They pull at Sebastian’s nipples after Kurt lets them go, the pinch deepening as their teeth dig in to remain attached. Kurt hangs a few more (purely decorative) Christmas balls to the wires, then strings red and gold garland around his shoulders. Considering how meticulously Kurt is decorating him, how much attention he’s putting into recreating the look from that night (plus a few additions), Sebastian can’t help wondering: “Are you planning another party, Master?”

“Yup.” Kurt takes a quick swig from a bottle of honey mead he’d opened before they’d started, one that Marley had hooked him up with at the party. Apparently, she and her sub make their own - raise the bees and everything. Sebastian was surprised when Kurt told him, and that’s when Sebastian realized he still has a lot to learn about this lifestyle. He has to stop being surprised when Kurt reveals tidbits like this to him. People are people. They have all sorts of interests. What they do behind closed doors doesn’t change or taint that.

For example, it is possible to raise champion show poodles (the way Adam does) and still be involved in the “kinky” lifestyle. Being a Dom doesn’t make him any less respected in the American Kennel Club circuit.

Sebastian’s drink of choice is Courvoisier. He tends to steer away from what he considers frou-frou “dessert” alcohols. He believed they weren’t manly enough or something. But he loves the taste of mead on his Master’s lips – the heat it lends to his mouth, the sweetness the honey adds to the sharp flavor of cloves and marijuana when Kurt smokes a little too much.

“A party of two. Just you and me, preppy. I didn’t get to fuck my beautiful Christmas tree last time. I’m making up for that right now.”

“I … didn’t know that fucking trees was something you did, Master,” Sebastian teases.

“Normally not, smart ass,” Kurt says, smacking his boy’s cock playfully hard. “But because it’s you, I’ll make an exception.”

Kurt doesn’t put the angel back on Sebastian’s head, but he fixes a collar around his neck – thick, black leather with bells encircling it that jingle when Sebastian moves. The simple slide of leather against his skin has Sebastian melting into his Master’s touch, makes him as relaxed as if he were drinking Kurt’s mead or taking a hit off his bong.

It’s the trigger to that internal switch that automatically puts him into submissive mode with no foreplay or commands involved. Once Kurt puts a collar around his neck, no matter what it looks like or what it’s made of, that’s a signal to Sebastian’s entire body that he’s owned. That he belongs.

And he behaves accordingly.  

“There. That way we won’t need to put on any background music. _You’ll_ be our radio.”

“Yes, Master.”

When Sebastian is adorned to his Master’s liking, Kurt starts in on himself, putting similarly belled leather cuffs around his biceps and thighs, a leather bulldog harness on his chest, topping the look off with a fluffy red Santa hat on his head.

It’s difficult to focus on Kurt getting dressed with Sebastian’s eyes aimed down his own body. Sebastian has never been quite so decorated for sex before. It feels awkward, yes. Uncomfortable, definitely. But it’s also an intoxicating combination of sexy and endearing. _This_ is how Kurt wants to see him. Kurt had wanted to fuck him like this days ago. He missed his chance, but he’s not going to let that stop him.

He knows what he wants, and he takes it. And right now, Kurt wants _Sebastian_.  

That’s a humbling feeling, but it’s a powerful one, too.

Part of him wants to preen over being on display, wishes that Kurt would invite his guests back over, especially _Elliott_ , so they can watch Kurt fuck him, wrapped in Christmas lights and garland, on his hands and knees. He wants them to see how much Kurt _enjoys_ him as something other than an object, like those subs who spent the party acting as tables and chairs. And besides, Sebastian loves having an audience. Not like before when having people watch him was a simple taboo, screwing guys under the bleachers or in the back seats of their cars (never his, _theirs_ ) in the hopes of getting caught, to show how few fucks he actually gave. It made him feel badass. He never realized how much of an honest-to-God exhibitionist he was until Kurt fucked him on his stage in front of one of the largest crowds _Pavarotti’s Prison_ has ever seen.

Kurt looks Sebastian over, leaning left and right to drink him in from all sides. He shakes his head. Even though his baby boy is quite exquisite from the back, the front is where the party is.

“Let’s switch this up.” He tugs Sebastian’s hips to relocate him. “I think I want to lie back and look up at you. This way I can see all of your pretty decorations.” He knocks the Christmas balls together, but thinks - _Like your smiling face_. _And your gorgeous eyes. And your delectable o-face .._. Kurt re-positions himself on the mattress with his head on his pillows, then directs Sebastian on top of him, straddling his hips. He tosses Sebastian a condom and a bottle of lube, and while Kurt reaches over to his bedside table for his pack of cloves and a lighter, Sebastian gets to work rolling the condom on Kurt’s cock and lubing him up. “Why don’t you sit on that, preppy?” Kurt says when he’s done, lighting the clove sandwiched between his lips. He watches Sebastian with hawkish eyes as he lifts himself up, spreads his cheeks, and carefully inches his way down his Master’s cock - the bob in his Adam’s apple when he swallows, adjusting to Kurt’s girth, that mirrors the bobbing of his cock (which Kurt has left uncaged); the quick exhalation of breath through Sebastian’s nostrils as he slows; and his sigh when he settles in his Master’s lap. For a boy who thought that riding a man like this would make him a bitch, this feels like heaven for him.

It feels like perfection.

“Don’t move yet,” Kurt commands, glancing at his full-length mirror. He sees the two of them, posed like the holiday edition of some raunchy porn mag, and chuckles at the absurdity. “Now don’t we look charming? I should take a picture. Make this my Christmas card.”

“Yeah - a rough trade Santa and his demented reindeer,” Sebastian remarks, taking a good long look for himself as Kurt grabs his cell phone and starts snapping off pics. _God_ , they look ridiculous! But Sebastian loves every frickin’ second of it.

Especially being immortalized.

He doesn’t know what Kurt actually intends on doing with those pics, but as long as he has them, Sebastian doesn’t care.

If Sebastian has to leave, maybe this is one way Kurt can keep him.

“Except in this scenario, Santa doesn’t ride the reindeer, the reindeer rides Santa.” Kurt shoves his phone underneath his pillow and smacks Sebastian’s ass. “Ho-ho-ho, preppy. Giddy up.”

 

 


	35. A Dalton Boy Green Around the Gills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the anniversary of a horrible day in Kurt's life, his sub shows up at his house so he doesn't have to spend it alone. But Sebastian ends up nursing something other than Kurt's broken heart ...
> 
> ... his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just so you guys know, I love this concept, but I don't like this one-shot. But I couldn't get it to where I did like it, so this is literally the best you're going to get xD Hope you enjoy it <3

“Mrr ... am … jilnt … crck … miop ...”     

“Uh ...” Sebastian, approaching his Master's bed with a bottle of water and some Ibuprofen, snickers over the man in the torn, black, AC/DC t-shirt lying face down in his pillow. “What was that, Master? I didn’t quite catch it.”

"I _said_ you don’t have to play nursemaid for me,” Kurt grumbles, rolling over slowly so the world doesn’t suddenly upend and toss him into the stratosphere. “I’m a big boy, preppy. I can take care of myself."

Sebastian stares down at his Master, looking like he drank his way through an entire keg to see what’s on the other side, and grins in amusement. "Really."

"Really," Kurt mimics, pulling the covers over himself, then tossing them off immediately after when they become unbearably hot.

"Ok, then.” Sebastian foreseeing a _long_ evening of this, crosses his arms over his chest, cocks his hip, and makes himself comfortable. “Get up."

" _What_?" Kurt glares at his snarky submissive, throwing around commands like he has any power to.

"If you can take care of yourself, Master, then you can get out of bed. I mean, you’re going to have to eventually to go to the bathroom and stuff. So, show me that you can do it." 

Kurt’s upper lip curls, baring his top teeth – fangs in particular. "I don’t have to prove _nothin'_ to you!" 

"Well, I’m not leaving till I see you get up and walk across this floor …” Sebastian knows he’s playing a risky game, calling Kurt out. His Master is already snarling like a wild animal, his fever-red eyes burning into Sebastian’s neck, out for blood. Even so, he takes it one step farther to goad Kurt into proving his point “... _old_ _man_.”

And with those two words, something behind Kurt’s eyes snaps.

“You’re going to pay for that one, preppy!” he growls, lurching up on his palms, ready to leap to his feet and bring his sub to his knees. But he stops. His face turns olive green. A second later, he’s leaning over the edge of his bed, losing every lunch he’s ever eaten into the waste paper basket.

“Yeah, no,” Sebastian says, trying not to sound too conceited even though he _was_ right. “You’re in no condition to take care of yourself, Master, so I’m not going anywhere.” He drops a tissue box on the bed next to Kurt’s hand so his Master can wipe his mouth. He tries to hand him the medicine, but Kurt turns his nose away. Sebastian sighs. Stubborn. So damned stubborn.

“Cooperate, please. I don’t want to have to tie you down to get you to behave.” Sebastian is employing every dirty tactic he can think of to get Kurt to comply, though he doesn’t know if that’s helping or hurting since, as infuriated as Kurt looks, something at the mention of being tied down sparks a granule of excitement in his eyes.

Regardless of what he may be thinking, after a brief standoff, Kurt snatches the bottle of water and the pills, downing them begrudgingly.

He doesn’t say thank you. Sebastian hadn’t expected him to.

“I don’t like people seeing me when I’m sick,” he divulges, so quietly Sebastian isn’t sure he meant to say it at all.

“Not _people_.” Sebastian sits gingerly on the edge of Kurt’s bed while his Master retreats under the covers. “Just me.”

“And what do you consider yourself?” Kurt mutters from beneath his comforter. “An elephant seal?”

Sebastian rubs Kurt’s curled spine, its outline visible through his blankets. “Something like that.”

When Sebastian arrived at his Master’s house and found Kurt passed out on the sofa, he assumed Kurt was either drunk or high. But the second his fingers made contact with his skin, he knew his Master had a fever. He picked him up off the sofa and carried him to the bedroom, sure that Kurt would sleep through seeing as he didn’t wake when Sebastian called, or when he knocked, or when he finally unlocked the door. But he woke to the sensation of being carried, and like the surly man he can be, he was pissed Sebastian was there.

Kurt shouldn’t have assumed otherwise, since Sebastian goes over to his place nearly every day after school. It’s the rare occasion when he _doesn’t_ stop by.

Sebastian had gotten the key to Kurt’s place, ironically enough, from Elliott. At first, Sebastian objected to having it. He _strenuously_ objected. Even with the relationship he and Kurt had cultivated, having the key to his house, given to him by anyone other than Kurt, felt like an invasion of the man’s privacy.

It felt like the kind of thing Kurt might end their relationship over.

But Elliott insisted; said he’d be willing to take the heat if Kurt got angry at Sebastian for having it, but that it would become _necessary_. Then he clued Sebastian in to all of the big “anniversaries” coming up, the ones that Kurt gets self-destructive over – the death of his mother, his father’s heart attack, the death of his stepbrother, the day that he left Blaine, the day his father was diagnosed with cancer, the day his father’s cancer came back …

Tonight is anniversary number three - the death of his stepbrother, Finn, who was too many wonderful things rolled up into one human being, according to Elliott. He was Kurt’s first real crush, then he became his best friend, then his superhero, and finally, his brother.

His death, which happened too quickly and too soon to make any sense, took a chunk out of Kurt that no amount of Elliott’s submission could fix. So he hit the bong and the bottle pretty hard, passed out for about a week, and when he woke up, he started all over again.

From the look of the set-up beside the sofa, it seemed that Kurt may have had something along those lines in mind – two bottles of whiskey, a plate of edibles, and a new, geode pipe, unopened and untouched because the flu got to him first.

Sebastian has never known someone whose departure from his life affected him this badly. He still has his parents, and one set of grandparents, so he’s lucky there. He’d loved his mom’s folks, but he didn’t really know them too well before they died.

But, Kurt – Kurt could leave a dent in him like this. Sebastian can see a future of nights spent on his sofa, alone, with a collection of empty bottles littering his coffee table while he dreams of the nights they spent together drinking, fucking, going to Kurt’s club, making out in Sebastian’s car …

… or just sleeping. Sleeping together has been one of the most intimate things they’ve done together. Sebastian will miss Kurt’s body lying beside his for the rest of his life if Kurt doesn’t agree to go to New York with him. He can’t imagine anyone in the world taking Kurt’s place in his life, or in his heart.

Sebastian massages Kurt’s back until he thinks he’s fallen asleep. He has a few things he needs to do before he undresses and kneels at the foot of Kurt’s bed, where he’ll wait until his Master needs him, but just as he’s about to get up, he hears Kurt mumble again.

“Are you for real, preppy?”

Sebastian’s hand stops at Kurt’s shoulder, and his brows pinch. “What do you mean, Master?”

“I mean, are you really here?” Kurt rolls back around to look at Sebastian. He makes it to his back and stops, his eyes struggling to focus on his submissive’s face. “Do you exist?” He reaches a hand out from underneath the blanket. Sebastian takes it. “And if you do, why are you wasting your time taking care of _me_? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re sexy, you’re _young_. Don’t you have anything better to do than to sit vigil on the bed of an _old_ _man_?”

Kurt sounds so extremely childish in his bitterness that Sebastian wants to laugh, but he can’t because he’s stuck on Kurt’s question. He has a dozen answers for it, but he chooses the one Kurt is least likely to argue over.

“Because you take care of me,” he says, squeezing Kurt’s hand. “I owe you one.”

“Hmm.” Kurt nods weakly, his eyes drifting shut. He sighs deep, his breathing evening out, and with that, he’s asleep. It happens so fast, Sebastian wonders if he was even awake a moment ago holding that conversation with him. Will he remember it later on, or will it seem like a dream?

On the off chance Kurt will write it off as a dream, Sebastian decides to go for broke. After all, what will it hurt if Kurt doesn’t remember?

“And because ...” Sebastian runs his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles, taking his time tracing every rise and fall, “I love you.”

Sebastian holds his breath for the aftermath, for Kurt’s eyes springing open, for the dizzy smile lighting his face or, more likely, the scowl, since he’s told Sebastian numerous times that no matter what they feel for one another, what they have has to end.

Because Sebastian is smarter than this, and he’ll eventually have to leave.

An _I love you_ wouldn’t change anything. It would simply make things more painful when the time came.

When Kurt doesn’t react, Sebastian knows he’s asleep. Sebastian has made several subconscious professions to a sleeping Kurt before, and received the same response. He’s not sure why he thought this time would be different. But he held on to the hope that Kurt might change his mind. That it might solve everything. And then the revelation of the warehouse would be the cherry on the cake, the thing that puts it all into perspective.

That proves how much Sebastian believes in them, and that them staying together could be doable.

But that realization isn’t going to come today, not on Kurt’s part anyway. And besides, any decision Kurt makes while delirious is probably not one that will stand in the morning.

Sebastian sighs. He stands, slipping his hand from Kurt’s grasp, but Kurt’s hand holding his tightens. Sebastian pulls, but Kurt, in the dead of sleep, refuses to let go. And Sebastian can’t make him. He lifts the edge of the comforter and slides underneath, scooting in close to his Master. The second Sebastian puts an arm around Kurt, Kurt snuggles into his embrace, cheek pressed against his chest, and he snores … loudly. Sebastian smiles. It touches him that this tough, independent man would seek him out for comfort. It’s a special moment. He doesn’t want it to pass.

Maybe Sebastian doesn’t get _forever_ , but he has _now_.

And that has to matter for something.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623438) by [Leydhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leydhawk/pseuds/Leydhawk)




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